


For What Awaits

by irithyll



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Horror, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Romance, canon? I hardly know her, well yeah but, why can't i hold all these valenfeels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irithyll/pseuds/irithyll
Summary: They never had a choice, but they'd still choose each other. The best part of one has always been the other.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Jill Valentine
Comments: 104
Kudos: 105





	1. A Storm Approaches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cyanCaddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanCaddy/gifts).



Jill doesn't think she's ever been so uncomfortable in her entire life. She can't seem to stop the nervous bounce of her knee and she looks over at the clock on the wall. It's hard to believe that only three minutes have passed since she last checked, and she looks back at the man in front of her and forces a polite smile.

"I'll tell you what," the portly man says, "The S.T.A.R.S. boys sure are lucky to have you coming on board."

There's something extremely unsettling about the look in his beady eyes. Jill averts her eyes from his and glances down at his mahogany desk, focusing on the gold-plated nameplate that's polished to proud perfection. Brian Irons, Chief of Police and resident creep, it seems. Great.

"Oh." Jill coughs and shifts her hips to find a more comfortable position in the stiff chair. "I'm flattered, sir."

Irons lets out a loud guffaw, one that makes her ears hurt and her skin crawl. She doesn't know how this obnoxious man managed to acquire his title, but she supposes she'll find out in due time. Jill is, after all, a newly hired member of the Raccoon City Police Department.

"The pleasure is all ours, my dear," he says, eyes unashamedly roaming down the front of her body, "It'll be nice to have something to look at around here. I know the boys will appreciate it."

Jill feels like she's going to vomit, but she bites her tongue and remains quiet. She reminds herself that S.T.A.R.S. will look great on her resume and that blowing it on her first day could very well be the worst mistake of her professional career. Having been in the military, Jill knows what it's like to be a woman in a man's world. Being on the receiving end of crude commentary isn't new to her, but Jill admits that she's never had to endure such treatment from a superior before.

"Brian." A bored voice drolls from behind her. "If you are finished assaulting my new recruit, I'd like to take her to the office."

She twists in her chair to look over her shoulder at the man who has interrupted them. He stands tall in the doorway, clad in shades of black and blue with his arms crossed over his chest in an intimidating manner as he cooly regards them from behind dark shades. Jill isn't sure who he is, but she's beyond appreciative of his intrusion.

Irons coughs loudly and clears his throat in an awkward manner. His demeanor shifts almost instantly and his voice grows quiet. Seeing the man squirm brings her a little satisfaction after having endured his perverse commentary.

"Ah," he says, "Jill, this is Captain Albert Wesker of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team. You'll be reporting directly to him."

Jill smiles. Wesker doesn't.

"Greetings." He tersely says. "Come with me."

She glances back at Irons and he nods his head slightly, head held low and eyes fixed on some insignificant point on the lacquered surface of his desk. It's as if he fears the other man and Jill finds herself curious about the dynamics of her new workplace.

"Thank you for your time, Chief." She lies as she rises from the chair, wiping her nervous sweat-soaked palms off on the front of her pants as she turns to face the Captain.

Wesker sharply turns on a heel and exits the office without any formal goodbye to Irons. Jill scurries after him in an attempt to catch up to him due to his wide stride.

"Thank you." She says in a hushed tone as they move briskly down the hallway.

"Disregard Irons." He sharply says. "The man is an absolute buffoon."

The comment catches her off guard. Jill isn't sure what to think about her Captain insulting their boss on the first day, but she can't say that it isn't undeserved based on her prior encounter with the man. She elects to say nothing in response and quietly follows him to the lower level of the station. As they make their way down the set of cement stairs, Wesker pauses at the landing and turns to face her.

"Welcome to Alpha Team." He says in the most unenthusiastic congratulation she has ever received. "Once you have your badge, I will introduce you to the team."

He gestures towards a door at the end of the hallway and Jill attempts to hide her nervousness with another smile. Something tells her she's making a mistake, but she pushes it aside and makes her way down the hall anyway because Jill Valentine doesn't fear anything.

At least...not _yet_.

* * *

"At this rate, it feels like we'll never solve this case."

Kevin's leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest in frustration as he glares at the fuzzy image on the television screen. Chris looks away from his desk to peer up at it and wrinkles his nose at the sight of Irons standing at a podium in preparation to give a half-assed speech.

"We'll solve it eventually." Barry says in return as he smiles warmly at Kevin. "Keep your chin up."

Chris appreciates Barry's optimism, but it isn't deserved. Four citizens of Raccoon City have gone missing within the span of two weeks and they haven't been able to produce a single lead on what the hell is going on. As he listens to Irons offer empty platitudes to concerned citizens, Chris can't help but laugh coldly.

"Listen to this fucker." He points at the television with an accusatory finger. "Motherfucker has no shame in lying to the public."

Joseph loudly tears open a bag of chips, eyes glued to the screen as he pops a handful of them into his mouth. Irons grins and assures that S.T.A.R.S. has made great progress in catching the culprit responsible for the sudden string of missing persons.

"Seriously?" He incredulously asks through a mouthful of chips. "We're nowhere close to solving this!"

Kevin snorts, shaking his head as he says, "What do you expect? He'll do anything to save face."

In his attempt to listen to both conversations, Chris thinks he's misheard Irons.

"Did I hear that right?" He angrily asks. "Did that dipfuck seriously just suggest that he's _helping_ with this case?"

"It seems that way." Barry responds, the neutrality in his voice wavering to let some of his disappointment shine through.

Chris hates a lot of things, but he struggles to discern whether he hates Wesker or Irons more. It's a close competition, but he thinks the incompetence of the Chief of Police nets just a little more disdain. He doesn't think the man has done any police work in the entirety of his life and he's deeply offended by his claim. In fact, Chris doesn't think the asshole has ever stepped foot in the S.T.A.R.S. office.

"He's just trying to reassure the public."

The sound of Brad's voice is enough to piss him off, but hearing him defend Irons nearly sends him into a fit of rage. Chris laughs bitterly in response as he glares at Brad from across the room.

"You've got to be kidding me." Chris manages to grit out. "You think that's alright? To stand up there and lie to everyone?"

"W-Well," Brad defends, "It's better than inciting panic."

Barry loudly clears his throat and Chris knows it's an unspoken attempt to persuade him to keep his mouth shut, but something about the look on Brad's stupid fucking face makes him even more furious.

"Oh yeah?" Chris asks. "You'd rather be lied to by the Chief of Police and have him sacrifice your safety for his own pride in lieu of the truth?"

Brad says nothing and it manages to fuel his anger even further. Chris doesn't know why he's so fucking mad, but he knows he's about to take it out on Vickers and doesn't feel even the slightest bit sorry about it because his incompetence warrants it.

"Now I know why Irons hired you." Chris spats. "You'll suck him off any chance you get."

The room falls silent as Joseph hastily shuts off the television.

"Keep your fantasies to yourself, Redfield."

Chris knows that monotone voice like the back of his own hand. Of fucking _course_ Wesker shows up just in time to save Vickers because the chickenshit sure as hell doesn't have the capacity to defend himself. Chris quickly pivots in his chair to face Wesker and his stomach feels like it drops when he sees an unfamiliar figure in the doorway.

He doesn't know who the hell is standing beside Wesker, but she's wearing this dark blue beret that has the S.T.A.R.S. emblem embroidered on it and it throws him off because he knows he's never seen her before. If the soft edges of her face are any indication of her age, she's too young to have any sort of high ranking status and the judgmental look she's giving him suggests that she heard what he said.

Chris opens his mouth in preparation to fire off a snarky retort, but Wesker speaks before he has a chance.

"Alpha." He addresses the room as he languidly gestures towards the woman with a gloved hand. "This is Jill Valentine. She will be joining us."

When she gives them a nervous smile, Chris realizes she's nothing more than some whelp who's still wet behind the ears. He turns back to his desk and flips open the file that he's been neglecting for the last fifteen minutes because he isn't the slightest bit interested in a welcoming party.

"Redfield."

The way Wesker says his name makes his skin crawl. He doesn't bother to look at Wesker and merely grunts in response to acknowledge him.

"Show Valentine the ropes."

Chris whirls around in his chair so quickly that it almost makes him dizzy. Wesker has already disappeared from the room in his infuriatingly stealthy way, leaving Jill behind to awkwardly stand in the doorway with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face that makes her look far too young to have a gun strapped to her hip.

"Fuck." He grumbles and returns to his desk.

He pretends he's reading the report, but he's so damn mad that he can't comprehend any of the words he's skimming over. It almost feels like the world is out to get him today and he doesn't have the patience to take some new kid under his wing.

"Did you know we were hiring?" Joseph quietly asks and Kevin shakes his head in response.

Chris runs a hand over his face in frustration and leans back in his chair, holding his eyes closed as he attempts to focus on anything but what's going on around him. He doesn't get far in his half-assed attempt at mediation because his nose is suddenly filled with the scent of something floral and he cracks open an eye to find that Jill's now sitting beside him. If she thinks he has any intention of following Wesker's order, she's sadly mistaken.

"So," he begins to ask in an almost accusatory manner, "Did Irons hire you?"

She nods and Joseph breaks into a fit of laughter.

"Of course he did," he manages between laughs, "The man's a damn pervert!"

Jill seems offended by his reaction but Chris doesn't care to find out why. He doesn't pay her any mind, a strategy that he hopes will persuade her to find someone else to shadow.

"Jill Valentine, huh?" Joseph asks. "I'm Joseph. Joseph Frost. I do all the tech shit."

The bubbly tone in Joseph's voice is annoying him too. He points at Kevin, who smirks in return.

"This is Kevin Ryman," Joseph continues, "He shoots shit pretty well. Oh, and this is Barry Burton. He's like Alpha's dad."

Barry laughs good-naturedly and gives Jill a small wave as Joseph continues his introductions.

"Brad Vickers is our pilot."

"N-Nice to meet you." Brad stammers and Chris holds in his laugh because he's pretty sure this is the closest Vickers has ever been to a woman.

"And the charming dude beside you is Chris Redfield." He sarcastically says. "He shoots stuff better than Ryman and pisses Captain off for a living."

Chris grunts once again in response because he really doesn't have anything pleasant to say.

"So," Joseph says after a few moments of quiet, "Are you from Raccoon?"

Jill tells him no. Chris doesn't really care where she's from.

"You served?" Joseph continues his interrogation.

"Army." Jill tells him. "1st SFOD-D."

"Holy shit." Kevin lets out a low whistle. "That's some serious shit."

Chris would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. Delta Force was a group of counterterrorist shit kickers and he'd heard plenty of horror stories about the gruesome training from failed recruits.

"Sorry for what I said earlier," Joseph says, "About Irons. I mean, he's a pervert, but I get why he hired you now."

Jill laughs and Chris feels something warm bloom in his chest. He hates it, but he hates the onslaught of questions she gets even more. Chris permits them to ask a few stupid questions—how many terrorists have you killed, have you tortured anyone, did you defuse bombs and shit—before he loses his cool.

"Alright." He sharply says as he rises to his feet, catching them all by surprise. "Let's go, Valentine."

She follows him without question and, as they make their way down the hall, Jill doesn't say anything at all.

Chris decides he likes that about her because peace and quiet is hard to find in a hellhole like the RPD.

* * *

No matter how long she stares at it, it still doesn't make sense. Jill squints at the bronze statue as though her scrutiny will somehow make everything come to light, but she can't do enough mental gymnastics to justify the presence of a unicorn statue in a police department.

"Don't think too hard." Chris advises with an amused smirk. "Irons is fucking weird. It doesn't go any deeper than that."

Jill steps back from the statue and gives it one last look.

"This building used to be an art museum." He shrugs. "Irons has shit taste and kept some of it intact. I mean, hell, the guy has dead animals in the back of his office."

"Wait, what?" Jill asks with surprise, though it isn't too much of a stretch to imagine. He could have told her that Irons had kidnapped girls tied up in the back of his office and she wouldn't have been particularly surprised.

"Not literally." Chris rolls his eyes as he pushes open the next door. "Taxidermy or whatever."

The library is incredibly grandiose for being a part of a police station. She pauses in the doorway, looking up at the intricate design on the ceiling and marveling at the height of the shelves before saying, "Taxidermy is still pretty weird."

Chris gives her a look that she doesn't know how to interpret. Jill brushes it off as best she can, but she isn't sure what to think about him. He's not a particularly sociable guy, rough around the edges and inarguably standoffish, and his stature doesn't do him any favors. Chris is built solid and wide with broad shoulders and a sturdy chest that could be intimidating in the right context. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd had his fair share of fights in the past given his rotten attitude.

Jill tries not to take it personally because he doesn't seem to discriminate when it comes to his sharp approach. As she's observing the massive goddess statue that sits in the center of the lobby, she can feel curious eyes on her, but she tries to ignore it. She's new to the precinct and Raccoon isn't a particularly large city, so her sudden presence is probably jarring to some. In fact, Chris takes more offense to it than she does.

"What? Haven't you seen a woman before?" He barks at one of the cadets passing by. "Get back to work."

The young man looks horrified and she smiles awkwardly at him before he scurries away. Chris is leaning against the bannister nearby with his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. Jill doesn't understand why he's so grumpy.

"It's not that big of a deal," she tells him, "I'm new. It's to be expected."

Chris clicks his tongue in annoyance.

"It's not because you're new." He insists. "The kid nearly walked into a wall because he was so fixated on your ass."

She supposes that she should be offended by his crass nature, but it's almost refreshing in a strange way. Jill doesn't have to force herself to put on a pretty smile around Chris Redfield because he doesn't appear to give a fuck about manners or professionalism.

"I can take care of myself." Jill informs him because she doesn't want him to think she's the type who needs a man to stick up for her. On second thought, she doesn't know why she cares what he thinks.

Chris looks like he's about to say something, but something starts to audibly vibrate, and he tears the beeper off his waistband.

"A body washed up the river." He tells her as he studies the text rolling across the screen. "Let's go."

She's surprised, but she doesn't make that known. Jill didn't anticipate being invited to a crime scene so soon, but she has to get her feet wet eventually and she's always been the type to rip a bandage off to get it over with.

The ride is quiet aside from the low hum of the engine. Surprisingly, Chris is the one to break the silence at the third red light.

"We're working on a few missing persons cases right now." He tells her. "Sounds like we might have found one of them."

He says it so nonchalantly that she wonders if this is a common occurrence in Raccoon City.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Two weeks."

"How many people are missing?"

"Five."

"Men and women?"

"Yes."

"How old?"

His jaw visibly tightens and he gives her a pointed look.

"How about I just give you the files when we get back so you don't have to ask all these stupid questions?"

Jill laughs sardonically. She doesn't understand what the hell is wrong with this guy.

"Sorry for trying to do the job you can't."

It flies out of her mouth so swiftly that she doesn't get a chance to think about it. She feels guilty as she watches him tighten his grip on the steering wheel to such a degree that his knuckles turn white. Jill doesn't know what she can say to make it better, so she chooses not to say anything at all and punishes herself with the uncomfortable silence that hovers around them.

The crime scene isn't hard to find thanks to the flashing blue lights that filter through the thicket of trees that line the river. The air smells earthy and wet when she steps out of the car and her boots sink slightly into the moist mud beneath them. Jill looks up at the grey sky and flinches when an errant raindrop lands in her eye.

"You coming?" Chris asks, already several feet ahead of her.

"Yeah."

The ground grows softer as they move closer to the river and she takes care not to slip and fall. A white tarp is laid out beside the riverbank, but the body is obscured from view by the officers standing nearby. She's aware of the attention that's directed towards her, but she calmly follows Chris in a way that she hopes suggests that she's meant to be there.

"What's up, Branagh?" He asks one of the officers and the man gives him a nod before looking her in the eyes.

"Hey," he greets with a cordial smile, "Haven't seen you around before."

Jill can hardly believe someone in Raccoon City knows basic manners. She offers her hand and smiles in return.

"Jill Valentine."

He accepts her handshake and introduces himself as Lieutenant Marvin Branagh.

"Right," Chris interrupts, "About the body."

Marvin sighs heavily and wears a sorrowful expression.

"Young woman, caucasian, probably in her early twenties. It's, uh, pretty brutal. Haven't identified her yet, but they're working on it."

He steps aside and Chris motions for her to follow. As they approach, the stench of decay becomes apparent and grows more pungent with each step they take. Jill breathes shallowly, trying to avoid inhaling through her nose to avoid the smell and keep from vomiting. It's ripe and sour with an underlying hint of disgusting sweetness that comes with the invasion of bacteria.

Despite her best efforts, she thinks she might vomit when they come to a stop because Jill has never seen anything like this before. The body is bloated from being left in the water for so long, stark white skin puffed up and pulled taut from all the swelling it's enduring. The woman's face is swollen and discolored in shades of purple and red, pale blonde hair gathered in a tangled up mess along one side of her head.

Her body is covered in deep lacerations and areas in which large chunks of flesh are missing. Whole pieces of muscle appear to have been ripped away, revealing bits of the yellowed bone that lay hidden beneath. She thinks they look like bite marks, like some type of animal had gotten to the body, and she winces at the tendons that openly dangle from a particularly deep wound in her neck.

Jill inhales sharply and holds her breath as a wave of nausea comes over her. Her stomach churns and she feels bile burn the back of her throat, but she swallows it as best she can. The last thing she needs is to vomit in front of Chris at a fucking crime scene. She clenches her eyes closed and breathes in slowly through her nose before letting the breath out of her mouth.

"Hey."

Chris is crouched beside the body and looks back at her from over his shoulder as he says, "You can wait in the car if you need to."

She thinks she's starting to understand Chris's language and she thinks what he really wants to say is _just get out of my way and let me do my job._

"I'm fine." She lies. "Thanks though."

Chris doesn't push it and Jill lets him carry out his investigation without asking any _stupid_ questions.

When they return to the office, they're met with a barrage of questions. Joseph's spitting them out a thousand times a minute and Chris has no trouble keeping up with them. Jill assumes this is a common occurrence. Joseph seems like the type to gossip.

"What do you think, Jill?"

She doesn't expect the question.

"What?"

"I mean what do you think about it? Like...what do you think happened?" Joseph clarifies as he plops himself down on the edge of her desk.

"Uh…" She thrums her fingers against the surface of her desk. "It looks like she was eaten or something."

Both Joseph and Kevin laugh and she feels embarrassed. Jill doesn't know much about interpreting wounds, but she thinks she knows a bite when she sees one.

"It does."

When Chris chimes in, the men fall silent. Barry looks up from his report and Brad looks mortified.

"Eaten?" Joseph repeats. "Like...by an animal?"

"Don't know," he responds, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Fuck." Kevin breaks the ominous silence that follows. "One of ours?"

Chris shrugs.

"Could be. They haven't identified her yet."

She tries to ignore the unsettling feeling that overcomes them as she starts to work through the stack of files Chris has unceremoniously dumped on her desk. Jill doesn't find much in the information he's presented her with. Five missing people, two men and three women aged twenty-two to fifty-seven, with absolutely nothing in common with one another as far as she can tell. If the time frame in which they'd disappeared hadn't been so narrow, Jill wouldn't have assumed any type of connection between the disappearances.

Jill's so immersed in her reading that she doesn't notice Chris is talking to her until he gives her shoulder a shake.

"Time to go." He says, gesturing to the clock that reads 1800.

"Oh shit," she smiles sheepishly, "I lost track of time."

Chris studies her with that look she can't quite discern the meaning of.

"Yeah," he pauses and looks down at the keys he's holding in his hand, "I'm out. See you tomorrow."

As he's strolling out the door, he pauses.

"Valentine."

His dark eyes meet hers.

"Welcome to the team."

Chris gives her a half-wave as he leaves the office and Jill thinks he might be the biggest mystery of them all.

* * *

He knows he needs to chill the fuck out. Chris tells himself to leave his frustration at the office, but he can't seem to get the day's events out of his head. His commute home is entertained with thoughts about the cases, about how incompetent Irons is, and how much he can't fucking stand Wesker and his arrogance. He's still annoyed about the way Wesker dumped Jill on him as some twisted form of punishment and it makes him think about _her_ too.

Chris doesn't know what to think about Jill Valentine. At first, he decides that she's infuriating, but he admits that her reaction to him isn't undeserved. He's an asshole—he knows this—and he's been a special kind of asshole today. Regardless, he can't shake the way she dished it back out at him with so much confidence because he doesn't know _anyone_ with the guts to do that besides Claire.

As he trudges his way up the stairs, he tries to persuade himself to relax. There's no reason to think about work anymore. He can't solve anything at home and he deserves to find some reprieve. There's nothing to be mad about here, no stupid fucking Brad Vickers or dipshit Brian Irons to rile him up with their incompetence.

Or so he thought.

He had forgotten about Claire until he could hear her music blaring from the hallway. Chris can't recall how many times he's told her how much he hates her music, but he knows it has been a fucking _lot,_ and the fact that she's blasting it at an ear-piercing decibel annoys the shit out of him. He fumbles with his keys and pushes open the door, unceremoniously kicking off his boots before rounding the corner.

Chris sees the open beer bottle on the kitchen counter before he sees her. Claire has her back to him as she stirs something that's sizzling on the stovetop and he reaches around her to pull the plug of the stereo out of the wall socket, granting himself much needed silence. She's cursing at him as she turns to him and he leans against the counter with a cross expression on his face.

"What the hell, Chris?" She wrinkles her nose at him. "Welcome home. It's nice to see you too."

He gestures towards the bottle of beer with a nod of his head.

"You're fucking eighteen. Why the hell are you drinking?"

Claire seems confused by the question. She turns off the burner and begins to scrape her stir fry into a bowl as she aggressively says, "You never cared before. Why the hell is it a problem now?"

"Because you're eighteen, Claire. It's _illegal_."

She doesn't seem impressed by his answer. Claire clicks her tongue in annoyance.

"Right," she says, "I forgot that you're the perfect representation of lawful good."

This is the last thing he needs right now.

"I'm not doing this with you today." He grumbles as he pours the contents of the bottle into the sink. "If you're living under my roof, you're not gonna drink."

"Didn't realize you were my dad."

It feels like a slap in the face. Chris sure as hell isn't their father, but he managed to fend for himself and raise his bratty sister, so it ought to count for something. At the very least, a modicum of respect on her part would be nice.

"Dammit Claire," he hisses, "I'm doing my fucking best, alright?"

She rolls her eyes as she makes her way out of the kitchen.

"Well, maybe try not being such a dick all the fucking time." She advises around a mouthful of vegetables. "Might do you some good."

The force with which she slams the door to her bedroom closed makes the walls rattle and her words echo through his head. Yeah, maybe he could try not being such a dick all the fucking time, but maybe everyone could stop pissing him the fuck off too. Chris really is trying his fucking best and he thinks he ought to be cut a little slack by his own damn sister.

He doesn't pursue her because he knows it'll do more harm than good. Claire's feisty attitude is exacerbated by the hormones of teenagehood and it makes a terrible concoction when mixed with Redfield blood. He decides to apologize in the best way he knows how—making his presence as nonexistent as possible by leaving the apartment and heading to the bar.

Chris isn't surprised when he finds Ryman there. It's not uncommon for them to run into one another on the nights that follow particularly bad days and it has become some unspoken form of catharsis for the both of them. Chris is already halfway through his first drink when Kevin decides to speak up.

"What's with you today?" He calmly asks. "You're hella uptight."

Chris shrugs because he doesn't really know what's up with him today. He's no stranger to the struggle of anger management, but he knows he's been particularly dickish today.

"I dunno." He confesses. "Shit keeps pissing me off."

Kevin laughs humorlessly and suggests, "Maybe all the shit at work is getting to you."

He knows what he means. Maybe the missing persons are getting to you. Maybe the murder has you riled up.

"Maybe," he muses, "But Wesker pissed me the fuck off too."

This time, when he laughs, it's earnest.

"What else is new?" Kevin rhetorically asks. "When doesn't Wesker get on your nerves?"

It's a valid point.

"Yeah, well, this time he dumped Jill on me. I'm not a fucking babysitter."

Kevin narrows his eyes at him, gives him a pointed look.

"She's not a fucking kid, Chris. I don't know much about her, but she seems qualified enough."

He thinks about what Jill said to him earlier, about how she was only trying to do the job that he _can't._

"How the hell am I supposed to teach her how to do the job when I don't even know how the fuck to do it myself?"

Chris recognizes the look Kevin gets on his face. He's about to drop some bullshit sage wisdom on him that's going to piss him off because it's too painfully accurate.

"You think you might be projecting your hate for Wesker onto Jill?" He brutally asks. "She didn't do anything wrong. Don't use her as your scapegoat."

He feels like punching something because of course Kevin's right. Kevin's _always_ right.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks, _I really am an asshole._

* * *

Jill thinks she would be hard pressed to remember a time in which she's ever been this tired. Each time she blinks, she fears that her body might betray her and greedily pull her into the realm of unconsciousness for much needed rest. She blames the weight of her eyelids on the meager two hours of sleep she managed to net the night before; two hours of sleep that were anything but consecutive.

She watches Joseph prance around the office with more energy than she thinks she's ever had in the entirety of her life. It's only a quarter to six in the morning and he's already spouting off the theories he formulated overnight.

"So Jill," he says in a singsong voice, "Your dead girl. You think a bear ate her?"

Jill shrugs. She hasn't the faintest clue what a bear mauling looks like, but she assumes it might look a lot like the corpse that kept her up all night.

"Maybe she got killed up in Arklay." He tells her. "The river brought her body down to the city."

"Arklay?" Jill asks not because she's curious, but because she feels compelled to entertain him.

"The _mountains_ ," he states as though she should know, "You know, with the forest and shit. Hikers love that."

Jill nods. Fuck, she's tired.

"Or maybe…" Joseph begins his next proposal with a shit-eating grin that leads her to believe something is up. "Maybe she got eaten by a sasquatch."

Jill waits for him to laugh, but he doesn't. Maybe there's a punchline coming.

"Well?" He asks. "What do you think?"

"You're not serious?" She looks around the room and Kevin starts to laugh.

"He's serious," Kevin tells her, "Frost has been trying to prove that Arklay is rife with sasquatch."

"It _is._ " Joseph insists. "I've heard some strange shit up in the mountains late at night."

"You sound like my damn teenage sister."

Jill recognizes the deep rumble of Chris's voice. She isn't surprised that he's late.

"Lay off the horror movies, Frost." He advises as he drops his bag on his desk with an audible _thunk._

Joseph purses his lips as though he's taken offense. Jill thinks he probably has because Chris has a knack for hurting feelings.

"Fine," Joseph concedes, "But you'll like my next theory."

Chris sets a paper coffee cup on Jill's desk and she stares at it like she's never seen one before.

"Oh yeah?" He asks, encouraging Joseph to continue.

Jill doesn't understand what just happened. Did Chris Redfield bring her a cup of coffee?

"Yeah, maybe Captain did it." Joseph snickers. "I bet he eats people."

Chris snorts. Kevin's shoulders shake with his restrained laughter. Brad looks mortified. Barry didn't seem to hear.

"Wouldn't surprise me." Chris says as he looks over at Jill.

Jill still doesn't understand why Chris set a cup of coffee on her desk.

"It's coffee." He tells her in a low tone. "I'm not poisoning you."

Jill meets his gaze, but she doesn't know what to say.

"Figured you might need it." Chris casually says as he begins to tap on his mouse to wake his computer from its sleep state. "Yesterday couldn't have been easy for you."

She gives the cup one last skeptical look because, from where she's sitting, it seems a hell of a lot like an apology and she _never_ would have pegged Chris Redfield as the kind of man to apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a rewrite of my very first attempt at fanfiction, One Red Thread. I've been overwhelmed with Valenfeels lately and I feel like this ship deserves so much better than what I've produced in ORT. I have learned a lot in my year I've spent in the fanfic community and I want to do Valenfield the justice it deserves. This plot isn't going to be a carbon copy of ORTs, but some things may seem similar to you if you read ORT. ORT readers, I promise this won't bore you.
> 
> I've taken a few liberties with the canon. It was intentional. I _know_ it isn't following the lore to a T. Please bear with me.
> 
> A massive thanks goes out to cyanCaddy because this fic wouldn't exist without her. She makes me a better writer and fixes all of my terrible plots. <3Thanks for all that you do.


	2. Fracture

Jill can understand his behavior to a certain extent. With five missing persons, no leads, and a _second_ body now on their hands, it's reasonable for Chris to be frustrated. Hell, she's only been involved in the investigation for a week and it's already getting to her, so she can barely even begin to fathom how the rest of the guys are feeling. Any reasonable human being would be affected by this to some degree. She knows this, but she still _cannot_ understand the way Chris is treating the dead man's window.

"If there's something you aren't telling us," Chris advises in an angry tone, "You'll be held accountable for hindering our investigation."

It's difficult to take him seriously when he's sitting on a floral-printed couch that's far too small for his stature. Chris stands out against the fine pieces of China, intricate damask wallpaper, and diminutive ceramic figurines that decorate the room to the point that it almost looks as though he was pasted into the room as an afterthought during editing for a magazine spread.

The elderly woman across from him wrings a delicate crocheted handkerchief in her fists and sniffles.

"I don't know what else to say. My Winston was a good man. He never missed a day of church and volunteered in the community."

Jill sees his eyebrow twitch in irritation.

"Mrs. Clusterluck—"

"Clutterbuck." Jill corrects him and Chris gives her a sharp glare.

"Mrs. _Clutterbuck_ ," he repeats, "I will say it again. If there's anything you're not telling us that could aid in this investigation, you will be charged to the fullest extent of the law."

The woman's eyes glisten with tears that threaten to fall. Her painted lips part as though she has something to say, but she closes them again and proceeds to choke on a sob. Jill feels like she's just been punched in the gut as she watches the old woman cry and she doesn't understand how Chris can sit there with a straight face and play the role of bad cop with an innocent grandmother.

"Chris," she calls out in a hushed voice, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He shoots her a nasty look.

"Anything you tell us will remain confidential." He continues to pressure her.

" _Chris._ "

It's hard to think over the sound of the woman's whimpering cries and Jill sighs.

"If you loved your husband, you'll be honest with us."

She cringes at his words. It's too much.

"Mrs. Clutterbuck," Jill softly says, "I'm so sorry for my partner's behavior."

Jill doesn't have to look at Chris to know that he's fuming. She can feel his stare boring holes in the back of her skull as she kneels down in front of the elderly woman to take her hands in hers. Jill gives them a reassuring squeeze and smiles.

"If you think of anything that might help, please don't hesitate to call."

Mrs. Clutterbuck seems to appreciate Jill's approach. She dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief and gives her a weak smile, but the pained look on her face remains. Jill knows that Chris is an asshole, but she never would have expected him to be cruel enough to take his anger out on an old woman.

She finds him waiting outside, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the car and glowers at her.

"Listen, I'm just as frustrated as you are," Jill says, "But what you're doing right now doesn't help anyone. _Especially_ not that poor widow who's sobbing in her living room right now."

Jill knows she's struck a chord. Chris clenches his jaw and looks away to seethe at the immaculately pruned rose bushes nearby.

"I used to be naive when I was new too, Valentine." He harshly says. "Trust me when I say that woman is hiding something."

If there's anything Jill hates, it's the way Chris addresses her by her surname. He speaks it like it's an insult, emphasizes the 'T' and spits it out so harshly that she almost feels ashamed of owning it.

"Chris, she's a grieving widow! Her husband was just fucking _murdered_! Can't you show a little compassion for once in your life?"

He only stares at her with an empty look in his eyes.

"Compassion, Chris," she says, sighing in frustration, "Do you know what that is? Should I define it for you?"

"No."

He uncrosses his arms and pulls away from the car in a languid manner that reminds her of the behavior of a petulant teenager being reprimanded by his mother.

"I'll apologize," he announces, "But not because of you."

Jill doesn't know why it feels like she's being stabbed in the chest. It's such a stupid argument. All of this is stupid _._

Chris is halfway up the short set of brick stairs that lead to Mrs. Clutterbuck's porch when he looks at her from over his shoulder with an arrogant smirk.

"I'm only doing it because it might make her confess sooner."

He's infuriating. Chris Redfield is the most infuriating, childish, impolite man she has ever met and Jill doesn't know how long she can put up with his insolence. She knows he must have some talent to have been selected for S.T.A.R.S., but she has yet to see why Captain Wesker has chosen to keep him onboard.

As she stands in the woman's kitchen, Jill examines the proud photos of grandchildren that are plastered all over the face of the fridge. Hastily scrawled phone numbers, gaudy novelty magnets, and a handwritten note from the late Mr. Clutterbuck are displayed between the images and Jill feels her sorrow for the woman well to the surface once again.

"Mrs. Clustermuck," she hears Chris say, "I've reflected on my behavior and realize it was unprofessional. We are under a lot of stress with this investigation and I let it get the best of me. I'm sorry."

When the woman accepts his apology and they're returning to the cruiser, Jill side-eyes Chris and mutters, "It's Mrs. _Clutterbuck_."

It wipes the haughty smirk off his face and Jill considers it a victory. His silence persists even after they've arrived back at the S.T.A.R.S. office and he immediately immerses himself in case files without paying her any mind. Joseph gives Jill a questioning look, but all she can do is shrug her shoulders. Chris is an asshole and she's sure Joseph knows this. It's not something that needs to be spoken aloud.

Just as she's about to settle down at her desk, Wesker pokes his head out from his office door and says, "Jill. A moment of your time."

She feels everyone's eyes on her. Joseph is already mumbling something in Kevin's ear and Barry gives her a sympathetic look from across the room. Jill hasn't the slightest idea as to what Wesker's sudden meeting is about, but the looks on everyone's faces suggest that it's nothing to look forward to. She wonders if Mrs. Clutterbuck complained, if Chris's condescending attitude has finally gotten her in trouble, and it irritates her because she knows it was bound to happen at some point.

Wesker gestures for her to take a seat as he quietly closes the door behind her and pulls the blinds closed. It's cold in his office and the leather chair she's sitting in doesn't do her any favors, but she ignores it as best she can as he settles into his own seat. Jill can't tell what he's looking at on account of the dark lenses of his glasses, but she doesn't think he's looking at her.

The thirty seconds of quiet that they share feels like an eternity.

"Jill." Wesker finally deadpans. "How are things?"

The lack of inflection in his voice complicates the question. She doesn't realize what he's asked until she processes it a second time and it surprises her when she finally does. Is Wesker really asking about her wellbeing?

"They're...fine." She decides to say, but the look on Mrs. Clutterbuck's face haunts her as she lies.

Wesker doesn't react. He sits there unmoving, staring at whatever it is that he's looking at, and Jill isn't sure what to do.

"I see." Wesker eventually says. "And how is your partner?"

Jill feels her heart skip a beat. Is this a test? Surely Wesker already knows about Chris and his attitude.

"I…"

She pauses, lips still parted slightly as she contemplates how to respond.

"Let me rephrase this. Would you say Redfield is doing his job?"

It's a difficult question to answer. Is Chris doing his job? Absolutely. Is Chris doing his job well? Not exactly. Not as far as she is concerned.

"Well," she smiles, "Of course he is, but...you know how he can be."

Wesker doesn't miss a beat.

"No I do not. Please elaborate."

Jill's face becomes numb with the sting of embarrassment. She suddenly feels incredibly small in Wesker's office and it's as though he's just snatched her by the wrist and caught her red-handed. There was no doubt in her mind that Wesker was privy to Chris's rotten behavior, but his response left her questioning just how attentive their Captain truly was.

"Well…"

Despite her best efforts, she cannot find a way to effectively backpedal. Jill can't figure out how to nonchalantly play off what she has said. She feels guilty about it and part of her wonders if Chris _really_ was as bad as she thought. Did he really deserve to be thrown under the bus like this?

Jill thinks about the anguish on Mrs. Clutterbuck's face and decides that maybe venting a little wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. She also thinks about Irons and the prejudice against her for being a woman and decides that she doesn't need Wesker's protection.

"It's not a big deal." Jill says. "His behavior is just...inconsistent at times. I can handle it."

She wonders if Wesker wears his shades for intimidation purposes because it's absolutely working on her. His stiff body language isn't enough to gauge his reaction and she isn't sure if she needs to continue with her damage control.

"Inconsistent?" Wesker asks as he leans forward to cross his arms on the surface of his desk. "Do explain."

Jill doesn't understand why she feels like she's the one at fault here, but she can't shake that familiar childhood feeling of sitting in the principal's office at school. Wesker's eyes are on her—at least, she _thinks_ they are—and she suddenly begins to ramble.

"He's just…"

Just what? An asshole?

"...Explosive." She finally says. "Unpredictable? He's just rough."

Wesker remains silent.

"His approach is just different." Jill continues. "I don't think he meant to, but he made Mr. Clutterbuck's widow cry during the interrogation."

"I see." Wesker coolly says, seemingly unimpressed by the revelation. There's no way he hasn't heard this before.

"It's not that big of a deal," she repeats, "Just kind of embarrassing. I can handle it though."

Wesker nods and mumbles, "Indeed."

What the hell does _that_ mean?

"Thank you for your time, Miss Valentine."

Jill feels like she's in a daze as she awkwardly leaves his office. She ignores Joseph's curious stare as she approaches her desk, but Chris suddenly pushes back from his own and blocks her path.

"We're going back to that girl's apartment." He announces. "Now."

The mutilated girl from before. Michelle Sanders.

Jill doesn't really have the energy to question his choice, so she merely agrees and steps aside to grant him space to pass by. She doesn't know what Chris is on about, but she resists the urge to question him because he's bound to give her a snarky response anyway.

Michelle's apartment isn't particularly impressive. It's the residence of a nineteen-year-old woman, one furnished with cheap IKEA furniture and cluttered by articles of clothing that are strewn about in what Jill assumes to have been the result of anxious preparation for some upcoming significant event based on her own teenage experience.

Chris is hastily wrenching open kitchen drawers and sifting through their contents as she sits on a barstool at the kitchen counter. She watches the muscle in his back flex beneath the fabric of his shirt as he slams one of the drawers closed and sighs in exasperation.

"What are you looking for?" She finally summons up the courage to ask.

Chris leans against the countertop, crossing his arms over his chest as he clenches his eyes closed in what appears to be painful thought.

"I don't know," he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Anything at _all_ to help bring justice to a woman who was murdered?"

He's an asshole, but he isn't heartless. The lack of progress in the case is getting to him and Jill is just as appreciative as she is wounded to see the fleeting glimpse of anguish on his face. She decides to hop off the barstool to join him in the kitchen as she begins to carefully sift through the contents of one of the drawers stuffed full of take out menus, appliance user manuals, and other miscellaneous junk.

"What are you looking for?" Chris asks as he steps across the short width of the kitchen to peer over her shoulder.

"I don't know," she says, biting back a smile, "Anything at _all_ to help bring justice to a woman who was murdered?"

* * *

Nearly two hours later, he's ready to call it quits. The rickety wooden chair creaks as he leans forward to rest his elbow on the desk, propping up his chin with his palm as he boredly scrolls through the girl's email inbox. He hasn't learned much by snooping through her laptop aside from her reckless shopping habits and penchant for cat memes.

"Chris," Jill speaks up, "Look at this."

Jill is sitting cross-legged on the girl's bed, surrounded by photo albums and boxes full of high school love letters and notes exchanged between friends. She's holding a plain piece of stationery in her hand and she wrinkles her nose as she skims over the perfectly looped cursive printed across the page.

"I don't know how our team missed this."

Chris rises from his seat to sit beside her. The bed frame groans under his weight and the depression in the mattress brings Jill a little closer to him, close enough to feel her hip brush against his.

"It's a threat." Jill tells him. "Blackmail."

Chris glances at the writing. He notices the small red and white logo printed in the bottom corner of the grey sheet of paper.

"Someone threatened her into silence about something in exchange for a high ranking position at Umbrella."

"What is Umbrella?" Jill asks, turning her attention away from the note to face him.

He tries to ignore the intensity of her piercing blue gaze. In their proximity, he can make out the various flecks of grey in her irises and it makes him a little nervous to be so close to her for reasons he can't understand.

"It's a pharmaceutical company." Chris says. "One of the facilities isn't far from here, but…"

"How did she get involved with Umbrella?" He asks aloud.

"I don't know, but I swear I've seen this before." Jill brushes the pad of her thumb across the ink.

"Seen what? The logo? There's an Umbrella billboard on the highway coming into the city."

"No, the handwriting."

Jill squints a little as she leans closer to the page. Chris doesn't think it looks particularly unique.

"Print this nice only comes out of Catholic school." She says with a wry smile.

"How would you know?"

Jill laughs.

"I had a Catholic foster family for a while. I've had my knuckles bruised plenty of times over sloppy script."

Foster family? He hadn't realized she was an orphan. Hell, he hadn't realized much about her at all.

"Wait," she suddenly says, excitement evident in her voice, "I know where I've seen this."

She jumps to her feet and moves closer to the bedside lamp to examine in it the yellow light.

"I saw it on Mrs. Clutterbuck's fridge!" She exclaims. "This...it was written by Mr. Clutterbuck."

He feels his heart rate accelerate. If Jill is right, the link between Sanders and Clumberfuck is a huge break in the case. They had yet to establish any correlation or relationship between victims.

"You're sure?"

Jill nods.

"I'm positive."

Chris hasn't been this thrilled about anything in a while. He doesn't know much about Jill, but he's learned that she's too methodical to be wrong. Jill doesn't jump to conclusions. He trusts her on this.

"Jill," he admits, "You're a fucking genius."

The look on her face suggests she's confused. Her lips are parted slightly and he can see an unspoken question in her eyes. It annoys him to some degree. Is it _really_ that surprising that he has something positive to say about her potentially finding a break in the case? What kind of person does she think he is?

"Alright. I want to talk to Mrs. Clustersuck again."

Jill frowns.

"It's Clutterbuck, Chris."

Same difference.

"Whatever."

* * *

Mrs. Clutterbuck sets a plate of shortbread cookies in front of him with an audible _clink_ of China against the tabletop. Chris pays it no mind and keeps his attention fixed on her as Jill offers a polite thanks and kicks the side of his foot from beneath the table. He glances over at her, gives her a sharp side-eye, and returns his attention to Mrs. Clutterbuck.

"Mrs. Clutterbuck," he addresses, his eyes never leaving hers in an unspoken attempt at intimidation, "Are you sure there isn't anything you want to tell us?"

He had a suspicion that she was withholding information in the beginning and that hunch still remains. Chris watches her purse her lips as she looks down at the table. Her eyes dart back and forth before her eyelids flutter closed and she keeps them tightly shut until she's able to force a smile and look him in the eyes again.

"I'm afraid I can't think of anything."

She's lying. He _knows_ it. The fact that she's continuing to withhold information is getting on his fucking nerves. What the hell is wrong with this woman?

"Listen lady," he snaps, "We know your husband was a lying, cheating piece of shit. If you want us to find out who killed him, you'll cooperate with us. _Now._ "

"Chris—"

To his surprise, Mrs. Clutterbuck cracks.

"My Winston did not love those girls." She insists. "Everything he did was done for a good cause. He was a good man."

Chris doesn't understand how a person could be so delusional.

"Good men don't threaten the lives of women." He counters.

"I don't know anything about threats." She admits as she grips her coffee mug with trembling hands. "But those girls...it was necessary. He told me they were special."

"Special how?" Jill asks before he has a chance to laugh.

"Winston...he said they had special blood. Umbrella needed them because their blood had properties that would help create a drug to cure disease." She nods, tucking an errant strand of silver hair behind her ear. "It was his job to arrange the blood drives and recruit them. Some took more convincing than others."

"That's a crock of shit. You expect me to believe someone would willingly turn down the chance to cure disease?"

Mrs. Clutterbuck sighs.

"Winston couldn't tell them what the drug was for. It violated a legal agreement. Umbrella couldn't reveal its purpose until it was proven to work."

"Bullshit." Chris hisses. "You really believe that? Come on, Carol. Your husband was lying to you so he could fuck around with young women."

"My Winston wouldn't lie." She vehemently defends. "He was a good man."

"Yeah, he wouldn't lie...he'd just screw young girls and threaten them to keep quiet. Hell, maybe he killed them."

She seems appalled. Mrs. Clutterbuck presses her hand to her mouth as her shoulders begin to shake.

"He would never." She whimpers between sobs. "He is not a killer."

"Right. He's not a cheater either, right?" He laughs humorlessly. "He _had_ to sleep with all those girls to save the human race!"

He feels Jill place her hand on top of his.

"Chris."

Something about the softness of her skin helps ease the tension in his head. He's furious—fucking _furious_ —about the fact that someone could take advantage of a woman as clueless as Mrs. Clutterbuck, but the weight of Jill's hand against his makes it a little less infuriating.

"Fine." He acquiesces. "I'm done here."

He doesn't so much as say goodbye before stomping out the door and waits for Jill by the car.

* * *

"That's some shit!" Joseph exclaims through a mouthful of chili cheese fries. "That old broad's husband was fucking the girl who got mauled?"

Jill flinches at the glob of chewed up french fry that lands near her hand. She quickly swats it away and Joseph gives her an apologetic look as he swallows.

"Sorry Jill." He sheepishly says.

"Fucking disgusting, Frost." Kevin reprimands him with a grimace on his face. "You kiss your mom with that mouth?"

"You bet," Joseph retorts, "I kiss _your_ mom with it too."

Chris snickers as he shoves a piece of his sandwich in his mouth. Jill would be lying if she said she wasn't disgusted by her colleagues' eating habits. Suddenly, her veggie wrap doesn't look quite as appetizing as it did before.

"I wonder if our guys knew each other." Kevin gestures towards Chris and Jill. "Our guy worked at Umbrella too."

Chris doesn't seem at all perturbed by the discovery. He shrugs and Jill can't understand why he isn't excited about this. It's another link between their cases.

"Wait, really?"

Kevin nods his head and Jill gives him a quizzical look.

"You don't think that's weird?"

She nudges Chris and he shakes his head.

"Nah, not really." Kevin tells her. "Everyone works there."

The conversation is briefly interrupted by Wesker's emergence from his office. He nods to the team and swiftly heads to the locker room.

"We don't work there." Jill half-jokes and Kevin smirks.

"Actually, you're tied to Umbrella too." He says, pointing at her as he kicks his feet up on the edge of his desk to make himself more comfortable. "Umbrella funded the Bright 21 Raccoon Project. You wouldn't have a job without them."

"What?"

No one seems shocked but her.

"Yep," Kevin continues, "They contributed a lot to the formation of S.T.A.R.S."

"I thought you said it was a pharmaceutical company?" She asks as she turns to Chris and he nods.

"It is."

It doesn't make much sense.

"Why does a pharmaceutical company have interest in funding a law enforcement team?"

Joseph drops his fork, glances back at the locker room, and leans in closer to his desk as he whispers, "Maybe they didn't want any competition from drug dealers. Maybe they're secretly manufacturing cocaine."

Chris rolls his eyes as Wesker emerges from the locker room.

"Captain," Chris calls out, "Frost reckons Umbrella's dealing coke under the table. Can we get a warrant?"

Wesker doesn't even pause as he makes his way back to his office.

"Utter imbeciles." He mutters under his breath, clearly less than amused by their antics.

Both Kevin and Chris laugh, but Jill can't shake the feeling that something just isn't right. She's not a Raccoon City native, but the fact that Umbrella has so much involvement with the community seems a bit bizarre. Maybe that's just how small towns work.

Jill forces a laugh and decides to throw Joseph a bone to lighten the mood.

"That'd be something," she plays along, "S.T.A.R.S. could be funded by drug money."

Joseph grins and says, "Now you're getting it, Valentine! It's all a cover to pay off the cops to hide their _real_ scheme."

She can tell Chris is confused by her sudden willingness to play along. He regards her with a raised eyebrow and she laughs.

"Come on, Chris," she teases, "Admit it. It could be possible."

"What the hell?" He presses the back of his hand against her forehead to assess her temperature. "You feeling alright, Valentine?"

"Never better." She tells him. "I mean...we're about to solve two cases in one."

Chris leans in close, his hot breath tickling her ear as he whispers, "You're not serious, right?"

"Serious about what?"

He frowns.

"Serious about Joseph's conspiracy bullshit. You don't believe that shit, right?"

Jill can't help but laugh. She knows the fact that Chris believes her isn't a testament to her poor acting skills and decides that he's almost cute for being so dense.

"Maybe," she says, "Maybe not."

"Oh come _on._ "

Jill grins.

"I mean, like, just think about it, _bro,_ " she whispers, emulating Joseph as best she can, "Like...what if…"

Chris buries his face in his hand with a groan.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Seriously!" Joseph shouts. "What if though? What if Umbrella is killing everyone off because they found out that they're drug dealers? Like...the _bad_ kind of drug dealers."

"Yeah Chris," Jill pauses to hold in a laugh, "What _if_?"

She can tell he's irritated. His attention stays fixed on her and she tries to maintain a straight face.

"Aw, Jill. Don't bully Redfield." Kevin speaks up. "He thinks you're _serious._ "

Chris's face lights up and he looks at Kevin.

"She's not, right?"

Jill can't contain her laughter.

"Maybe, but…what _if_ , bro?"

"Oh my god." Chris turns back to his computer with a pout. "You're all idiots."

"Pot calling the kettle black, Redfield!" Wesker shouts from his office.

The laughter that fills the room makes her feel strangely warm. For the first time since she started, Jill feels like she's actually a part of a team. Joseph bows his head low and glances at Wesker's office.

"How did he hear that?" He asks in a whisper. "He's a superhuman."

"I distinctly remember you insisting that he's a reptilian shapeshifter." Kevin reminds him.

Joseph purses his lips in a pout as he leans back in his chair, tilting it back on two legs.

"Yeah. It's still possible."

He frowns hard and narrows his eyes in contemplation.

"Maybe he made a deal with a demon for his superpowers."

Chris rolls his eyes and voices his opinion.

"Supersonic hearing? Pretty lame superpower. I can think of better uses for my soul."

"Get back to work, Redfield!" Wesker yells and Joseph's eyes go wide.

"See what I mean?" He asks, staring directly at Jill. "Something isn't right."

Jill thinks they just don't realize how loud they really are.

"Mhm." She nods her head. "I see."

Joseph beams.

"Man, I wish you were my partner, Valentine."

Kevin takes offense to the comment. He glares at Joseph and says, "What the hell, Frost? What am I to you?"

Joseph shrugs.

"A naysayer." He tells him. "A nonbeliever. No fun. A grump. Brainwashed."

"Right." Kevin says. "Got it."

Jill hides her smile behind her hand. Despite how weird and infuriating the guys are, she might be able to fit in after all.

Several hours pass in what seems like the blink of an eye. Jill knows their shift is up when Joseph trips in his haste to suddenly leave his desk, catching himself on the edge of Kevin's with a loud slap of his palm against the surface.

"My leg was asleep." He claims with a sheepish smile.

Jill remains at her desk as the rest of the guys begin to pack up their things.

"You know," Joseph says, "We haven't gone to Jack's in a while. We should go tonight!"

"Not a bad idea." Kevin agrees. "Might help alleviate some stress."

The questioning look she gives Chris prompts an explanation.

"It's a bar." He tells her.

She's never really been much of a bargoer. Jill just nods her head and continues reading the files she's pulled.

"Redfield!" Kevin shouts. "You comin'?"

Chris doesn't give him much of an answer. He shrugs and mumbles, "Depends on what my punk sister is up to."

"She's eighteen. She doesn't need a babysitter." Kevin counters with a knowing smirk.

Chris huffs.

"What about you, Valentine?" Kevin asks.

She shakes her head.

"I don't think so. I have some things to finish up here." She gestures towards the loose papers on her desk. "Thanks though."

Joseph doesn't appear to like her answer.

"Come onnnnnn!" He whines. "All work and no play isn't good for you!"

"If I'm not too tired later." She says with absolutely no intention of _not_ being too tired later.

Joseph seems to accept the answer.

"Alright! See y'all at eight."

Jill thinks she'll be too busy curling up in bed to make herself present at eight.

* * *

Chris tells himself the same shit Claire always tells him. _It's good for you to be sociable. It won't kill you to have a little fun every now and then. Maybe you can pretend you aren't a dick for once in your life. Just go out._

None of it really convinces him. He doesn't know why he agrees to go, but it's not like he has anything better to do anyway. Chris sighs as he pushes the door to his locker shut with a little more force than intended and pauses when he steps back into the office. Jill's still sitting at her desk with her back to him.

"Valentine? You plan on going home any time soon?" He asks and she looks back over her shoulder at him.

"Yeah," she quietly says, "In a little while."

His curiosity gets the best of him. Chris stands behind her and reads over her shoulder.

"Sarah Matheson?" He reads aloud. "Isn't that one of Frost and Ryman's cases?"

Jill nods her head.

"Her sister was an intern at Umbrella too."

Chris is surprised that she's still on her Umbrella bullshit. It doesn't raise any red flags for him. About half of the entire city is employed by them.

"With all due respect," he sighs, unsure of how to get his point across in the least offensive way possible, "I think you're grasping at straws here."

Jill tilts her head back to look up at him. Her dark hair falls away from her face and he's unable to tear his attention away from her pale blue eyes once again. Chris doesn't understand why they suddenly have an effect on him. He doesn't even understand what that effect is.

"I just...have this weird feeling." She earnestly says.

He sees it in her eyes. Chris knows these disappearances are keeping her up at night too. Jill has already taken some ownership over the cases. She has developed some kind of personal stake in this too.

"Alright."

Chris drops down into his chair and takes one of the folders off of her desk.

"What are you doing?"

He thinks it's pretty obvious.

"Trusting my partner's hunch." He nonchalantly says as he flips a page.

Jill doesn't say anything. When he looks at her, she's staring at him with this blank expression on his face that he decides doesn't suit her.

"What?"

She smiles slightly, shaking her head as she returns to her own research.

When he finds the link, he's not sure if he's surprised. Chris didn't anticipate the Umbrella lead to be legit, but he knows Jill is thorough. It was a fifty-fifty shot.

"Umbrella is the common thread they all share." He realizes. "This guy's dad did environmental services at Umbrella."

"And this one was a pharmaceutical rep for an external company. That can't be a coincidence."

It's something, but Chris doesn't know if it'll bring anything to fruition. Raccoon City isn't particularly large or prosperous and many rely on Umbrella for employment out of necessity.

"We should go," Jill says, "To Umbrella. See if anyone knows anything."

Chris isn't sure it'll hold any water. They can pitch it to Wesker, but he doubts it's enough to obtain a warrant.

"We'll have to talk to Wesker about it in the morning. You need to get some rest."

Honestly, she looks like shit. The dark circles beneath her eyes give her a gaunt appearance and her hair is disheveled from the way she anxiously ran her fingers through it as she pored over the files. He notes the tiny scabs worn into her lip from her nervous chewing and the slight tremor of her hand that he assumes is a result of too much caffeine.

"Seriously," he reiterates, "You need to get away from this shit tonight. Come to Jack's with us."

Her smile seems forced as she shakes her head.

"I think I'll just go to bed."

Chris thinks about using Claire's spiel on her and insisting that it'd be good for her to socialize, but the hypocrisy of it isn't lost on him. He doesn't really care enough to argue with her.

"Sounds good," he says as he stands, resting a hand on her shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze, "See you tomorrow."

He doesn't hang around. Jill's still gathering her things when he leaves the office and he mulls over their discovery as he walks to the bar. Yeah, all their missing persons are tied to Umbrella in some way, but it could easily be a coincidence. In the off chance that there is something nefarious going on, he doesn't think it's a Frost-esque conspiracy. Maybe there's one shithead working at Umbrella who likes to snatch up people. Hell, maybe it's a serial killer. Maybe they're all dead.

Oh shit. Maybe it was Clutterbuck.

He plays the widow's explanation over in his head again. She had said something about blood drives, how her dick of a husband was in charge of recruiting donors. What were the odds that their missing people were all donors? What if Clutterbuck was an even bigger psychopath than he thought?

Chris does his best to push his thoughts aside as he steps inside of the bar. If he lets himself get too carried away, he might start sounding like Frost, and Chris thinks he'd rather end up dead himself than ride the conspiracy train.

Jack's isn't much to look at, but he appreciates the chill of the air conditioning and the cozy familiarity of the place. He spots Ryman in the corner, perched on a beat up couch as he observes a game of pool being held between Frost and Speyer.

Speyer. Chris snorts a little at the sight of him.

"Doing what you do best, I see," Chris greets him as he nods to the table, "Playing with balls."

Speyer's bent over the edge of the table to study the arrangement of balls to line up his shot. He looks back at Chris from over his shoulder and scrunches up his face in disgust.

"Pay close attention." Speyer advises with a smirk. "Because we both know it's the most action you'll see for a while."

Chris brushes him off with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he accepts the beer Kevin offers him. Speyer makes his shot and whoops in excitement.

"You see that?" He asks and Chris shrugs.

"Didn't give enough fucks to watch."

Frost snaps his fingers to try to catch everyone's attention and says, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Speyer narrows his eyes as he stares down his nose at Chris. Who the fuck does he think he is?

"Well, maybe if you get Ryman drunk enough, he'll do you a favor."

"Whoa," Ryman points an accusatory finger at Speyer, "Don't bring me into your petty dick measuring competition."

"Yeah," Frost interrupts, "It'd be a waste because Redfield will win anyway. I mean, have you guys seen the size of his feet?"

Chris thinks he probably should have just gotten plastered at home.

"I'm taller." Speyer grunts.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night." Chris counters. "But seriously, Frost...don't ever talk about my dick again."

Joseph shrugs as he snatches the cue from Speyer. Chris all but throws himself onto the couch as he makes quick work of his drink.

"Shit, it's not a race." Ryman coughs and passes him another beer. "Chill out, man."

Chris gives him a pointed look and says, "That's what I'm trying to do."

He doesn't really need judgment from any of them. Chris doesn't know why he's suddenly so pissed off again, but the alcohol is bound to help. After his fifth, he's calm enough to shoot the shit with the guys. After his eighth, he thinks he's fucking hallucinating when he sees a blur of blue approach in his periphery.

"Oh! My! God!" Joseph shrieks. " _Jill_! You came!"

For a moment, he's confused because she sure as hell doesn't look like his partner. Chris takes in the sight of her dressed in tight jeans and a navy blue v-neck and he's pretty sure his partner isn't shaped like _this._ He swallows hard as he forces his attention away from the exposed skin of her chest and tries his best to bore holes into the wall with his eyes. His face feels hot and there's a nervous bounce to his knee. Chris doesn't know what the hell this is, but he blames it on the alcohol without giving it a second thought.

"Yeah," Jill smiles as she tucks her hair behind her ear, "I needed a break."

The long, feminine curve of her neck makes his mouth dry. Speyer's low whistle makes it taste bad.

"Well, well, well," he says as he saunters around the pool table to close some of the distance between himself and Jill, "Who might you be?"

"Oh!" Joseph pauses to excitedly set down his drink, causing some of its contents to slosh around and splash onto the floor, "Oh, oh! This is Jill!"

He motions between Jill and Speyer with an erratic wave of his hand.

"She's, uh, one of us! She's Redfield's partner!"

Chris feels Speyer's eyes on him but he refuses to look at him.

"Redfield's partner, huh?" Speyer asks. "Too bad you're not on Bravo."

Chris decides to take interest in the grime caught between the wooden floorboards at his feet. At the very least, it's a hell of a lot more interesting than Speyer.

"Forest," he introduces himself, "Forest Speyer. I'm Bravo's Redfield...but better."

He looks up just in time to see Jill accept his handshake. Chris doesn't know why the sight of it makes him so mad.

"With all due respect," Jill says, "I highly doubt that."

Chris feels flushed. He lets out a long breath and looks up at the ceiling. Is his heart racing?

Speyer laughs.

"I like this one." He says.

"As if she needs your fucking approval." Chris thoughtlessly quips.

Speyer glares at him.

"As if she needs your defense?" He smugly asks.

"Wow," Frost stands between them and crosses his arms over his chest, "I told y'all I didn't bring my measuring tape so save it for another time."

He chooses to let it go. Chris leans back into the couch and closes his eyes as he takes in a long, slow breath. Claire's always telling him to do shit like this, but it never really helps. He looks up at the ceiling and studies the water stain that spans several tiles until he feels the couch sink beneath someone's weight beside him.

Chris doesn't have to look to know it's Jill. There's something about her presence that has become all too familiar to him. They share a moment of quiet before he clears his throat.

"You're here." He states the obvious and cringes inwardly at his own words.

He feels Jill shift beside him.

"I am."

He feels her lean against the back of the couch and, to his surprise, she continues.

"I couldn't get my mind off it."

She doesn't have to tell him what it is. He knows.

"Yeah, I get it," he pauses to take a sip of his beer as he watches the guys debate pool rules, "I'm glad you came."

He coughs.

"I mean…"

Chris clears his throat again.

"Because it'll help take your mind off of it." He clumsily explains.

He feels her shoulder brush against his while she laughs. When did they get so close?

"Sorry about all of that," he rambles, "With Speyer. He's an asshole."

Chris pauses.

"A bigger asshole than I am."

Jill laughs again and says, "I find that hard to believe."

He feels uncomfortable, like he's ten times too big for the couch he's sitting on and as though everyone is watching him.

"Do you," he doesn't look at her, but points towards the bar with the neck of his bottle, "Want a drink or something?"

When she doesn't reply, he looks over at her, and she smiles. Jill's already holding a bottle of beer that she's resting on top of her thigh and he feels like the biggest idiot on the planet.

"I'm kind of drunk." He confesses and hopes she accepts his excuse.

"Most people get sociable when they're drunk," Jill tells him, "Not socially awkward."

Chris thinks she's picking on him, but he can't really tell. His mouth is moving faster than his mind and he doesn't know why he says it, but he leans in close and whispers, "You clean up alright, Valentine."

She lets out a quiet laugh and says, "Wish I could say the same about you."

He can't fight his grin.

"You're definitely drunk." Jill assesses and he nods his head.

"Definitely kind of drunk."

Wanting to punch Joseph in the mouth isn't uncommon for him, but when he bounds over to them to whisk Jill away to play a game of pool, Chris wants to punch him even more than he ordinarily does. He reconsiders this when he sees her lean over the edge of the table and the hem of her shirt rides up to show the smooth skin of her lower back.

"Close your mouth before you start catching flies." Ryman mumbles as he sinks into the couch beside him again.

"What?"

Ryman gestures towards Jill with a subtle flick of his finger as he takes a generous sip of beer.

"You're practically undressing her with your eyes."

Frost is hollering and Chris isn't sure why, but the vexed look on Speyer's face suggests that Jill might have shown him up in his own game. He likes that.

"Not sure what you're talking about."

Jill circles around the table, stopping when she's positioned across from him. She stares down at the balls scattered across its surface and he knows she's thinking hard about her next move by the way she's holding the inside of her lower lip between her teeth. Eventually, she leans forward, and the neckline of her shirt falls so low that Chris has to force himself to look away.

His mouth is really fucking dry.

"That's what I'm talking about." Ryman says.

"Fuck off." He grunts. "It's nothing."

"Uh-huh."

Chris decides he'd rather punch Ryman than Frost for once. Fuck, he's annoyed.

"Just be careful."

He doesn't know what the hell Ryman's on about, but it's irritating the shit out of him just like the sly look Speyer has on his face as he stares Jill down.

"You're all pissing me off." He announces. "Seriously."

Kevin slides to the edge of the couch, straightening himself out to fish through his pockets. He tosses a crumpled pack of cigarettes into Chris's lap. Ryman doesn't have to talk and Chris prefers that he doesn't.

Snatching up the battered pack of cigarettes, Chris looks up to see Speyer rest his hand on Jill's shoulder. He's about to lose his shit, but she smacks it away and says something he assumes is smart because Frost laughs and Speyer pouts in response. Chris holds his tongue as he makes his way outside and he appreciates the deep breath of night air that he breathes in. Maybe Claire was right after all.

He leans against the brick exterior of the bar as he fumbles for his lighter with trembling fingers. Fuck, he doesn't know why he's so raving mad. Maybe it's the stress. The case is probably getting to him. Speyer doesn't help. Frost is fucking annoying. Ryman thinks he knows everything. Jill didn't have to show up looking so hot.

Chris freezes in the midst of bringing the now lit cigarette to his lips. Jill wasn't hot. _Isn't_ hot. She's just his stupid partner and he's definitely kind of drunk and hasn't been laid in god knows how long.

The coolness that dissipates through his airway and lungs brings him relief. His mind is still as he takes another drag of his cigarette and briefly holds onto the noxious air. Claire's been pestering him to quit and he knows he probably should, but now definitely isn't the time. She'll complain about the smell of his clothes when he gets home and the thought preemptively annoys him.

Chris finds his fleeting peace in the chilled night air and his nicotine fix until the bar door swings open and reminds him where he's standing. He huffs and tosses the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot as he looks up to see Jill standing right fucking in front of him.

He doesn't say anything. She tilts her head to the side slightly and gives him a scrutinizing look.

"You okay?" She asks and it sounds genuine.

"Just peachy." He mumbles. "You beat Speyer?"

Jill has a pretty smile, all white teeth and an unmatched dimple in the side of her cheek.

"Of course I did."

He likes that.

"Good."

Jill looks up at the night sky.

"You know," she says, "He actually is a bigger asshole than you."

His own laugh surprises him. It escapes him before he realizes it's about to happen.

"Impressive, huh?"

She's still smiling.

"It's the only impressive thing about him."

He likes that too.

"You did good today," he tells her, "With the cases and crushing Speyer."

Jill looks skeptical, but she thanks him anyway. Chris guesses he really is a huge fucking asshole for her to so readily doubt his compliment.

"I hope it leads to something." She suddenly says, voice soft as she runs her fingers through her hair in that nervous way. "The Umbrella lead."

Chris leans against the wall, watching her as he agrees, "Yeah, me too."

Her demeanor is different now—despondent in a way that he hates.

"Look," he pulls himself away from the wall to move closer to her, "Even if it doesn't, we'll figure it out eventually."

Jill purses her lips in an expression of disbelief, but she nods anyway.

"Yeah, probably."

She's looking at everything but him. Her gaze lands on the wall above him, the scraggly bush beside him, and the dirt on the toe of his boots.

"Do you ever…"

Jill hesitates like she's not sure she should speak.

"Do you ever think ab—"

The door to the bar clatters open, nearly slamming against the wall it's fastened to as Speyer comes tumbling through.

"Oh hey _Jillllll,_ " he slurs, his smirk faltering when his eyes falls on Chris, "And Redfield."

Chris hates Speyer, but he fucking loathes him when he's drunk.

"I didn't know you were still here." Speyer cooes as he saunters up to Jill. "Need me to walk you home?"

Jill wrinkles her nose and takes a slight step away from him.

"No thanks. Chris was about to take me."

He doesn't remember agreeing to that, but Chris certainly isn't going to complain because Speyer is giving him this envious look that makes him feel victorious.

"Bummer."

Jill smiles politely and says, "Maybe next time?"

As they bid their farewells, Jill stops once they're out of Speyer's earshot. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers in his ear, "There won't be a next time."

Chris thinks it's the heat of her breath that makes him feel flushed. He chuckles under his breath as he falls into step beside her. Raccoon City is pretty dead on a Thursday night and he appreciates the relative quiet of the city.

"You don't really have to walk me home."

He shrugs and asks, "Where do you live?"

"Literally just down the street," she says with a laugh, "The dead end past that fancy boutique."

"Meh, I have to pass by it anyway to get to my place."

He's lying and he doesn't know why. Chris lives in the complete opposite direction, but he doesn't want her to walk through the empty street alone for whatever reason.

"I suppose I'll allow it then." Jill teases.

Chris isn't a small talk kind of guy. Definitely kind of drunk Chris apparently is.

"Where'd you learn to smash guys in billiards?"

Jill laughs.

"One of my foster families had one."

"You mentioned that once before," Chris recalls, "A foster family."

"My parents died when I was young," she explains, "Too young to be self-sufficient but too old to be adopted. I didn't have any blood relatives to take me in."

Chris feels it in his chest. He suddenly feels like he can relate to her.

"My parents died when I was a kid too." He says. "Eleven. Ended up raising my little sister because the aunt who had custody was a drunk and never around."

Jill sighs and says, "Geez, that's rough."

Chris shrugs.

"It is what it is. We got through it."

He notices the boutique she mentioned, one with a striped awning and frilly blouses on display in the window. It's the type of place he wonders if Claire would have liked to shop at had he ever had the money for it. Instead, she was cursed with his hand-me-downs and bargain bin t-shirts, and he thinks Claire could have turned out a lot differently with a real parent.

"That explains a lot about you."

Chris doesn't know what she means and he doesn't want to ask. She hesitates at the staircase leading up to her apartment complex when they arrive.

"Thanks for the escort," she smiles, "Even though I didn't need it."

"You're welcome for the escort," he smirks, "Even though you didn't need it."

She's nearly the same height as him while she's standing on the bottom step. Even in the yellow lamplight, he can tell how stunningly blue her eyes are. He studies the constellation of little scabs on her lower lip again and the way the edge of her dark hair brushes against her pale neck.

"Do you...want to come in?" She asks.

He thinks he does, but he's not sure.

"I can make you some coffee to perk your drunk ass up."

"Kind of drunk." He corrects her.

"Your _kind of_ drunk ass then."

Chris wonders what her scabbed up lip would feel like against his and if her hair is as soft as it looks when she's raking her fingers through it.

"As sweet as the offer is…"

He follows the long line of her neck to the curve of her collarbones.

"I gotta get home."

His stomach sinks at his own words. Why the hell did he say that?

Jill nods her head and he tries to pretend there's disappointment in her smile.

"See you in the morning?"

Oh shit. He does have to work, doesn't he?

"Yeah."

It's the alcohol that makes his stomach flutter when he walks away. Definitely.

* * *

Jill isn't surprised that Chris is late. Though it isn't uncharacteristic for him, she can only imagine how shitty he feels. She only had a couple beers and still wanted to die when her alarm went off at four in the morning. Chris was surely having a hard time after his...dozen?

Joseph stole a rolling chair from one of the receptionists in the West Office. As he slowly spins around in it, it emits an ear-piercing squeak that makes her want to throw it out the third floor window. Maybe Chris is rubbing off on her.

"Joseph," she sweetly says, "Can you...not?"

"Thank fuck." Kevin hisses. "I was about to choke him out."

Joseph gives them both an angry look. He relents, putting his elbows on the edge of his desk and resting his chin in his hands as he pouts.

"It helps my hangover. It's like the spinning cancels the spinning out."

"Yeah, well, it makes ours worse." Kevin complains. "So cut it out."

Jill looks up at the clock on the wall. It's a quarter past nine and Chris is nowhere to be seen. She wonders if he called in sick, but something tells her that Chris is the kind of guy who could catch the plague and still show up to work the next day.

"Your girl," she says, addressing both Kevin and Joseph, "Sarah Matheson. Her sister was an intern at Umbrella."

Wesker enters the office. Jill swears his entire closet consists of nothing but black attire.

"So what?" Kevin asks as Wesker pauses.

"Where is Redfield?"

Jill looks at the empty seat beside her.

"Late I guess."

Wesker clicks his tongue in annoyance and pulls open the drawer to a filing cabinet.

"You really think the Umbrella stuff is relevant?" Joseph inquires.

Jill nods.

"Barry's guy...his dad worked at Umbrella too."

"I still don't think it's a big deal." Kevin says. "Umbrella is a huge company."

"It might be worth asking around though." She insists.

"Hey Captain, is that enough to check them out?" Joseph asks.

"Insufficient evidence." He deadpans.

The doorknob turns and Jill whips around to watch Chris casually stroll through the door as though he isn't hours late.

"How nice of you to join us, Chris." Wesker sardonically greets.

"Always appreciate the warm welcome, Captain."

Jill wonders if Chris has treated all of his superiors the way he does Wesker.

"In my office." Wesker demands. "We have a matter to discuss."

Chris groans as he unceremoniously drops his bag into his chair.

"I've been late sixteen times this year. I know."

Sixteen? Yikes.

"That is not the nature of the discussion." Wesker barks. "Though your tardiness is unacceptable."

Wesker doesn't give Chris much of a choice. He simply heads to his office in wait and Chris pauses after he's sidled past Jill to whisper, "Wish me luck."

Jill holds up her crossed fingers and gives him a sympathetic smile. She didn't wish a visit to Wesker's office upon anyone after her experience and, truth be told, Chris had redeemed himself a little the night prior. Though he was still a jerk, he had somehow managed to be less of an asshole than usual the night before, and she genuinely felt some sympathy for him despite his past conduct.

Her exhaustion wasn't merely a product of her hangover; Chris's actions had kept her up too. The alcohol had helped Chris loosen up in a way she had never seen before. Beneath his sharp exterior, Chris seemed to be a decent human being. Something was weighing heavily on him, something that she couldn't quite discern on account of the massive walls he had built around himself, but it made her understand him a little better. Maybe his dickish behavior was a byproduct of something greater. Maybe Chris had a thorn wedged somewhere between his ribs and he was lashing out on instinct.

He mentioned a sister. Like herself, Chris was an orphan, but he hadn't been alone. He admitted to having raised his younger sister and she wondered what sort of relationship that type of tragedy created. Surely they were close. Surely Chris had _someone_ in his life to help him through his struggles.

It had kept her up last night. Jill couldn't suppress her curious thoughts. She wondered why he was so flippant and how he could change his entire personality as though he had merely flipped a switch. Chris insinuated she was incompetent and naive earlier in the day, but that night he had murmured compliments in her ear.

The recollection makes her feel warm. Jill doesn't need his approval, but the way he treated her that night had been appreciated. Was it solely because of the alcohol? She isn't sure. Part of her hopes that it hadn't been; the same part of her that wonders what that smoldering look in his eyes was when they stood outside of her apartment complex.

Anger, probably. This was Chris after all. He was probably furious with her for some reason and she doesn't know why thinking about it makes her heart skip a beat. It couldn't have been a look of endearment. Chris hated her, didn't he? He never wanted her around from the beginning, but she still can't stop thinking about the way he _looked_ at her.

Chris isn't her type. Jill knows this and that her thoughts are wasted on him. She doesn't feel anything for him, not like _that,_ but she can admit that he's handsome in his own way. Were she a little more drunk and he a little less of an asshole, she might have mistaken that look for something more, and that night could have ended a lot differently had she been a lot more drunk.

She feels embarrassed just for thinking about it. Jill buries her face in her hands and lets out an exasperated sigh. Chris turned out to be a decent human being. So what? He still hates her. He's still not her type. He still acts like a bratty toddler sometimes.

And he still looked at her like _that_ last night. God, he was infuriating.

"You alright, Valentine?" Frost calls from behind her and she nods even though she doubts he can see it.

"Just tired." She explains. "Thanks though."

Wesker's office door swings open. Chris looks angrier than he ever has and she can't even begin to imagine what he had been reprimanded for. Wesker seems to know exactly how to push his buttons and she feels sorry for him.

Until she looks him in the eyes and sees something she can't mistake this time.

Chris Redfield _hates_ her.

"Hey Ryman," he says, staring her down as he walks past her, "You were right about this one."

Jill doesn't understand what's happening.

"What?"

Chris laughs humorlessly.

"Heard about your little talk with Captain, _Jill,_ " he spats, "I thought a lot of things about you, but I never would have taken you for a fucking snitch."

She feels like she's been punched right in the chest.

"It wasn't like that," she tries to explain, "I didn't go to him. He t—"

"Right." Chris slings his bag over his shoulder and roughly pushes past her. "Get fucked, Valentine."

Jill doesn't know what to do. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"Can we talk?" She quietly asks. "There's a misunderstanding here."

"Nah," he pulls open the office door and glares at her from over his shoulder one last time, "There's no misunderstanding here. I see what kind of bitch you are."

He slams the door so hard that the sound of it makes her flinch. There's an awkward quiet that fills the office and she sits there, dumbfounded as she stares at the door. Her eyes feel hot and her vision is a little blurred, but she blinks hard and looks down at her desk because there's work to be done and she has cases to solve.

"What the hell was that?" Joseph finally asks.

"I don't know." She says. "I really don't know."


	3. For the Plant

The dark circles beneath Grace Matheson's dull green eyes seem characteristic for new motherhood. Jill smiles sympathetically as the young woman shifts the weight of her infant from one shoulder to the other, muttering apologies between quiet cooes meant to suppress the newborn's cries. Chris stands awkwardly beside her on the porch, arms crossed over his chest while he leans against the wrought iron railing in his typical intimidating stance, and Jill resists the urge to roll her eyes.

It's been three days since the incident with Wesker and Chris has spoken a total of ten words to her, but she never expected any less from him. Jill gave up the hope of rationalizing what had happened with him early on because of his petty, hot-headed nature. He was bound to get over it eventually and once he blew off some steam, she'd take the opportunity to explain herself.

"She's adorable." Jill compliments as she eyes the girl swaddled in pale pink blankets.

"A hellion," Grace says with an amused smile, "But an adorable one nonetheless."

She steps aside to allow them clearance to enter her home. It's exactly the type of mess Jill would expect of a new young mother and there's a slight charm to the plethora of bottles laid out to dry on the kitchen counter and baby blankets draped over the back of the couch.

"We appreciate your time." Jill tells her once they've taken seats around the coffee table.

Chris remains standing as he paces the length of the fireplace mantle to study the framed family photos on its surface. One he finishes, he begins to walk the perimeter of the room. Jill does her best to alleviate the tension he creates.

"We had a couple of questions about your time at Umbrella." Jill explains and Grace furrows her brow in confusion.

"I wasn't there very long." Grace says, confusion evident in her voice. "Is this relevant to Sarah's disappearance?"

Instinctively, Jill looks at Chris. His dark eyes meet hers and she's surprised that he's actually acknowledging her in some way.

"We aren't entirely sure, but we suspect that it might be." Jill confesses. "If you don't mind…"

Grace smiles, shaking her head as she idly rocks her daughter back and forth in a gentle motion.

"I don't mind. I just fear that I may not be much help."

"It's alright if you don't know." Jill assures her. "We heard mention of blood drives being held at Umbrella. Do you know anything about that?"

Grace frowns in a way that unmistakably suggests that she does.

"They weren't held at Umbrella." She tells them. "In fact, you wouldn't know they were run by Umbrella. They held them at a church through a third party. One of the senior representatives coordinated them along with a local physician."

"Do you remember the representative's name?" Jill inquires and Grace nods.

"Winston Clutterbuck," she says and Jill watches Chris stop his anxious pacing.

"He was odd." Grace continues to explain as she looks up at the ceiling in thought. "He was very adamant about them. He pestered me to donate often."

"Why is that?"

Grace shrugs.

"I always just assumed it was because of my blood type," she says, "I'm O neg. The universal donor."

Chris seems annoyed. Jill sees him clench his jaw and she fears he's about to slip into his bad cop routine. Grace doesn't deserve the same treatment Mrs. Clutterbuck received.

"Was that really what it was about?" Jill quickly asks before Chris has a chance to intervene. "I mean, was it really about blood?"

Grace seems confused by the question. She ponders it for a moment as she fiddles with the blankets wrapped around her infant.

"You know," she pauses in thought before continuing, "That's a really good question. He seemed a little over the top at times, but I can't imagine what he would have to gain from it. If I had to guess, he was probably getting a nice bonus out of it. The man was obsessed with money."

Jill believes her. She admits that she had been wrong about Mrs. Clutterbuck, but Grace genuinely has nothing to lose by admitting the truth.

"Did you ever give in? Did you ever donate?"

Grace shakes her head.

"No. I had just found out I was pregnant when they started them. It's not advisable to donate while pregnant. I didn't want to risk hurting her in any way."

She looks down at her daughter and smiles.

"How long was your internship?"

"I only stayed for six months," Grace says, "I didn't plan to get pregnant. I had to take leave from my university and my internship was terminated."

Jill nods in understanding and asks, "What did you study?"

"Biomedical engineering." Grace laughs and adds, "I'm enjoying the staycation."

"Did Sarah participate in the blood drives?" Chris suddenly speaks up, voice a little deeper than usual. It's the beginning of his stupid intimidation game. Jill cringes.

"Not that I know of. She wouldn't have a reason to."

"What about the doctor?" Chris interrupts. "What was their name?"

"I'm not sure," she says with a sigh, "It was a man. Middle aged, if I recall correctly."

"Do you remember which hospital the physician was affiliated with?"

"Yeah," Grace says, "I'll write down the address."

It's an adventure for another day. Chris has no interest in working overtime that evening and they ride back to the precinct in silence. Jill has become accustomed to his cold shoulder and she doesn't push it by attempting to make any conversation with him. She knows any attempt would be fruitless and is prone to exacerbate his anger.

Jill decides to walk home. The fresh air helps clear her head and she appreciates the warmth of the setting sun's rays across her face. Being in the cramped, windowless S.T.A.R.S. office for hours on end has definitely started to have an effect on her and it only adds to the dismal mood created by Chris's behavior. The warm weather and the slight breeze perk her up a little, but it doesn't last.

Her heart skips a beat as she approaches her apartment and notices the thin sliver of light that escapes from the space between the door and its frame. There's absolutely no way in hell that Jill Valentine left her door not only unlocked, but also _open,_ and she feels a nervous weight settle in her gut. Instinctively, she rests her hand over the handgun at her waist and she hesitates outside the door. Is there really any point in calling the police when she herself _is_ the police?

She pulls the Beretta from its holster and gently pushes the door open.

The sight alone is enough to overwhelm her. Jill expected something to be amiss, but she didn't really anticipate the utter chaos that awaits her. The entryway to her apartment is cluttered with overturned cardboard boxes that she hadn't yet unpacked from her relatively recent move, their contents scattered across the floor in an unceremonious fashion. Her kitchen table lays on its side and she immediately notes that the stereo system on the nearby console table is missing. The air feels strange, disturbed, and violating in a way she can't explain.

Her apartment is small enough for her to assess that the culprit isn't around. Jill reholsters her gun and allows her arms to dangle limply at her sides as she merely observes the damage in defeat. The pile of cash and loose change she had thrown on her counter while emptying her pockets on laundry day is missing and the contents in the cabinet beneath her bathroom sink have been strewn about the small room.

Drawers from her desk are thrown on the floor and papers are scattered around the room. One of the windows near her bed is damaged, the view of the alleyway below obscured by the spider crack that spans the entire width of it. She anxiously eyes the nightstand beside her bed and approaches it with caution. Jill already knows it's been emptied, but she wrenches open the drawer anyway and sighs. This is just her luck.

Jill's first instinct is to bang on her neighbor's door. She's met him once before when he tried to bum a lighter off of her and he hadn't been pleased when she informed him that she didn't carry one. Jill suspects that he won't be much help, but she still continues to furiously knock until the lanky, unshaven man answers the door.

"Shit," he greets, holding one eye shut as he tries to shield his face from the hallway light with his hand, "I was tryin' to sleep, lady."

"I'm your neighbor." Jill says, pointing down the hall at her door. "Someone broke into my apartment."

He quickly becomes defensive, holding his hands up in surrender and shaking his head as he insists, "Whoa, it wasn't me."

Jill sighs.

"I know. Did you hear anything?"

He scratches at the stubble on his neck and purses his lips as he seems to think about the question.

"I dunno." He grins sheepishly. "I took a shit ton of Benadryl to help me sleep. Not even the living dead could wake me."

The guy leans forward, causing Jill to step back as he peers out into the hallway.

"How bad is it?" He asks as he steps out of the threshold of his own apartment. "Did they take anything? Break stuff?"

Jill crosses her arms over her chest. Chris really is rubbing off on her.

"Don't worry about it." She says, waving him off with a lazy pass of her hand. "I have it under control."

She calls it into her own precinct because she really isn't sure what else to do. Jill sits on the edge of her bed as she waits, staring at the mess before her in a stunned silence until a loud rapping echoes through the room. The two officers that greet her don't seem particularly stunned by the wreckage. They ask her a few questions before requesting that she wait outside.

Jill sits on the floor in the hallway. She tilts her head back to look up at the ceiling and closes her eyes, letting out a long sigh that seems to relieve some of the tension in her body. A break-in is the last thing she needs right now given the stress of the missing persons cases and her partner's childish behavior. Part of her wonders if it can get any worse. She realizes that it can when she hears loud stomping on the stairs that seems strangely familiar.

Seeing Chris confuses her just as much as it surprises her. Jill can't even begin to guess why he's there and he takes long, quick strides down the hall in her direction. He looks pissed, brow set hard and chest rising and falling faster than usual, and she wonders how he will manage to blame her for this.

"What are you doing here?" She asks as she rises from the floor.

Chris doesn't answer her because of _course_ he doesn't. He stops and stands a little too close to her, close enough for her to consider stepping backwards to salvage her personal space.

"Why didn't you call me?"

She doesn't really understand the question. Why _would_ she call him? He's hardly even acknowledged her existence over the last few days and S.T.A.R.S. isn't really meant for solving burglaries.

"Why would I?"

He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he says, "I dunno, maybe because I'm your fucking _partner_?"

Jill almost laughs. Some partner he's been. Since when does he give a shit about her personal life?

"Are you?" She tilts her head to the side and eyes him carefully. "Because it sure hasn't seemed like it over the last few days."

He's mad. She knows it. Chris rakes his fingers through his hair and curses under his breath as he stares down at the floor.

"Yeah, well…"

He grimaces like what he's about to say hurts.

"I'm trying, okay?"

His voice is strangely soft as he says it and Jill doesn't know how to react. She looks up at him, but he keeps his attention on the floor. The moment of quiet they share is awkward and uncomfortable and Jill feels her face grow hot.

"I'm gonna make sure they're doing their damn job." Chris announces, resting his hand on her door in preparation to push it open.

"How did you know?"

It's the question that's been pestering her since he came storming up the stairs.

"I was still at the precinct when it got called in. Marvin told me on my way out."

Chris approaches the door, but pauses before entering.

"Wanted to make sure you were okay." He mumbles, hand splayed across the door's surface. "May I?"

Jill doesn't know what the fluttering feeling is in her stomach, but it feels a lot like butterflies. She doesn't really know how she feels about Chris seeing her apartment in its current state, but she reminds herself that he's a cop. There isn't a logical excuse as to why he can't, so she just nods her head and says, "Pardon the mess though."

* * *

Chris is relieved that Branagh's team is handling the investigation. He's not sure why he's so bent out of shape about someone ransacking Jill's apartment, but seeing Ford and Edwards standing in her kitchen makes him feel a little more at ease.

"Glad to see you guys," he says, but grimaces at his own words and adds, "Aside from the circumstances, that is."

Edwards laughs good-naturedly and offers him a handshake.

"Nice to see you too." He tells him. "Heard about all that shit S.T.A.R.S. is dealing with. Sounds like a fuckin' nightmare."

"That's not far off." Chris admits as he surveys the state of disarray around him. "You guys have any input on it?"

Believe it or not, he genuinely cares about their opinions. Chris knows Branagh's team is good, a compliment that he uses very sparingly because of the general incompetence of the Raccoon Police Department. He thinks he could count the number of good cops in that precinct on his hands and it's a disturbing realization that he isn't ready to admit to himself.

"It's hard to say, man." Ford says as he scratches the back of his neck. "Seems like Raccoon is just going to shit these days."

"What do you mean?" Jill asks and Chris inwardly laughs. Leave it to overly analytical Jill to ask the questions.

"She's new." Chris explains. "Moved here for S.T.A.R.S."

"The city isn't usually rife with disappearances, murders, and drug trafficking."

Ford seems to reflect on his thoughts, pausing for a moment before he shrugs.

"It's hard to explain some of the things that are going on."

"Like what?"

Jill doesn't hesitate at all. Chris smirks a little. Ford appears a little flustered by her questions. To be fair, he wouldn't have expected her questions either if he hadn't known her.

"Aside from your cases?" Edwards teases.

"We've had some weird calls lately," Ford tells her, "Calls up to Arklay about 'strange noises.'"

"What does that mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. We never hear or find anything."

"How many of these calls have you had?"

"A few."

Edwards interrupts to say, "Young kids romping around in the woods late at night reporting weird sounds? They're probably high. I don't think it's a big deal."

"I dunno, man," Ford sighs, "You never know these days. Feels like the apocalypse is comin' with all these crimes going on."

Chris doesn't necessarily disagree.

After they leave, Chris finds himself standing with Jill in the entryway of her apartment in an uncomfortable silence. He looks around the area and coughs.

"I'll help you clean up."

Jill shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Thanks, but it's not necessary."

Her response annoys him. He's only trying to be nice. She could let him try to make up for the stupid shit he's done for once.

"Jill," he says with an exasperated sigh, "Just let me help."

In retrospect, he guesses he understands why she's so reluctant to accept his help. He _has_ been a bit of a dick.

She stares at him for a moment and he almost asks her what her goddamn problem is. Chris doesn't know why she's looking at him the way she is, but it makes him nervous for some reason.

"Okay," she relents, "Thank you."

He tries not to be mad as he tidies up, but he's not successful. Chris wants to know what punk ass kid had the audacity to break into her apartment and fuck the place up. As he flips the kitchen table upright, he thinks about how unnecessary turning it over was, and he thinks maybe the culprit deserves a little unnecessary roughness in return.

Once he feels the area is sufficiently straightened up, he finds Jill kneeled on the floor beside her bed. She's gingerly lifting pieces of broken pottery out of a pile of soil that's strewn across the floor near some house plant that looks as though it's been trampled.

"Never took you for the gardening type."

Jill stops for a moment before placing another shard of the destroyed planter into the pile she has collected.

"I'm not."

Chris knows there's something more to this. The softness of her voice has a strange quality to it and it makes him feel embarrassed about his innocuous comment. He decides to assist her in collecting pieces of the broken pot and tries his best to push all the soil together into a single mound with his hands.

"I guess it's dead."

She's staring at the sad, wilted plant on the floor. Chris didn't expect her to be so sentimental about a plant. He learns new things about Jill Valentine every day.

"I dunno," he admits, "But, look…"

Something clicks in his head. Chris thinks he's a fucking genius.

"If it means that much to you, I can have my sister look at it. She's good at that kind of stuff."

The next part of his half-baked plan requires some guts to say aloud. He nervously coughs.

"I bet she can fix it. I mean, you probably shouldn't stay here anyway. I mean...you know, because your apartment was just broken into. You could…"

He cringes at himself.

"I mean, if you _want_ to, you could stay the night at my place. My sister lives with me, you know. I mean...she can probably fix your plant for you."

Scratch that. Chris thinks he's a fucking idiot. Why the hell did he have to say it like that?

"What I'm saying is…"

What is he saying?

"You should stay the night at my place. We'll bring the plant and I'll get Claire to look at it."

He's definitely a fucking idiot.

"Claire is," he lets out a long sigh, "Claire's my sister."

Jill's staring at him like he's the one who just killed her plant. He's never been good at this kind of shit.

"Didn't you call me a bitch three days ago?"

Chris flinches. He couldn't remember if he had only thought it or said it, but he apparently knows the answer now.

"Yeah…I guess I did."

"And now you're inviting me to stay the night at your apartment?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"I just have one question."

Jill stands up, folding her arms over her chest as she looks down at him. The cross expression on her face and the way she's hovering over him make him feel a little nervous.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

In all fairness, that's a question he asks himself every day.

"I have no fucking idea." He admits. "But I'm trying, okay? I have a fucking problem and I'm trying to fix it."

He points at the busted window behind him.

"All I know is that some shithead broke into my partner's apartment and stole a bunch of shit and I don't really feel comfortable with her staying here tonight, alright? Just...let me do the right thing for once."

Chris is good at what he does. Sure, he's a little rough around the edges, but he never said his technique was perfect. Despite that, he's good at being a cop and even better at reading people. He's observant. He knew Mrs. Clamberbutts or whatever the fuck was lying because he's a goddamn _expert_ in body language.

Despite this, he can't tell what the hell is going through Jill's head. Not now and not hardly ever. She doesn't say anything to him and instead goes back to cleaning.

Chris thinks he knows how to take a hint. He keeps his mouth shut and starts putting the drawers back into her desk.

It isn't until forty-five minutes later when they're nearly finished that she speaks.

"Alright," she tells him as she throws her pillow back onto her bed, "But I'm doing it for the plant."

Fuck.

"Of course."

He didn't expect her to say yes. He didn't even expect to ask her to stay with him. Why the fuck did he do that?

What the fuck is Claire going to say?

* * *

Her decision to accept his offer wasn't an easy one. Initially, her instinct was to outright decline his proposition, but his sister's alleged gardening skills were what kept her from telling him off. She pondered it for a while and carefully weighed her options.

If she stayed at his place, she wouldn't have to pay for a hotel. Not that she needed company, but she wouldn't be alone at his place, either. They could talk about the case. Maybe her plant would live.

This was Chris though. Chris Redfield, her seemingly borderline partner who apparently had two very distinct personalities, invited her to stay at his place. It seems weird to stay with a coworker. It seems even _weirder_ to stay with the coworker who called her a bitch.

Jill did it for the plant. As she sits in the passenger seat of Chris's car, she stares down at the crumpled remains of her plant sheltered within the cardboard box that rests in her lap and reflects on his bizarre behavior.

Chris knew he had a problem—he admitted it to her during his awkward monologue at her apartment. It made her feel a little sympathy for him. For the first time, she's able to imagine what it must feel like to be Chris Redfield and she feels bad about how frustrating it must be to know you're an asshole but not be able to control it.

That man needs therapy. No doubt about it. Sure, she feels sorry for him, but it doesn't excuse his behavior either. Chris clearly needs to learn some self-control.

"So," she says, feeling a little annoyed by her own thoughts, "Your sister is okay with some bitch staying the night?"

She sees his grip tighten on the steering wheel. He leans forward to turn down the radio that's playing some shitty love song.

"Look," he runs his hand through his hair as they wait at a red light, "I'm sorry about that, okay? I was just fucking mad. It doesn't make it alright and I regret saying it, but I was pissed off."

The apology is surprising. It isn't particularly sweet and it certainly isn't a good one, but she can tell he's being genuine. She watches him anxiously tap his fingertips on the back of the steering wheel as they wait.

"I'm sorry too." She thoughtlessly blurts out, surprising even herself.

Well, no going back now.

"About the Wesker thing," she clarifies, "I really didn't mean to talk about you. He pulled me into his office to ask how things were going and one question led to another."

She sighs.

"I was overwhelmed. Wesker is kind of...intense sometimes."

Chris makes a sound that's a mix between a laugh and a snort.

"I prefer to describe him as a fucking sociopath, but to each his own."

She can't suppress her slight smile. It's not unfitting.

Holding up her hands in defense, Jill laughs, "Hey, I didn't say it."

The conversation isn't deep, but the apologies are enough to make Jill feel a little lighter. For the first time in three days, their relationship seems to be back to its bizarre normalcy. In all the chaos that is S.T.A.R.S. and Raccoon City, Chris feels like the only constant in her life and she's grateful to have him back in whatever strange capacity that she does. He's still a broody asshole, but Jill decides she's willing to try to understand him better.

Jill suddenly understands Chris a hell of a lot better when they step foot in his apartment. Chris is barely able to close the door behind them, keys still jingling in the lock when the shouting begins.

"How nice of you to come home, you _fucker_!" A loud voice calls, growing progressively louder as the speaker approaches. "I started to think you wouldn't dare come home after you took all of last night's leftovers to work and left me here to _starve,_ but h—"

A redheaded woman appears from around the corner and comes to a complete stop mid-step, staring Jill directly in the eyes. Although Chris had mentioned living with his sister earlier, the resemblance between them is undeniable in both appearance and personality it seemed. The intense look in her eyes matches his and there's a similar bounce to their gait.

"Hello." She quickly says, leaning her shoulder against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. "Who are you and why are you with my brother?"

Jill is nearly rendered speechless. She absolutely understands why Chris is the way he is now. Common decency wasn't in the Redfield genome.

"I mean," she continues, "You could do a _lot_ better. Trust me."

"Fucking hell, Claire. She's my _coworker._ " Chris grunts, wrinkling his face in an expression of disgust.

"Even worse!" Claire exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "What are you trying to do, get _fired_?"

Jill tries not to laugh. Chris glares at her. She thinks he deserves a taste of his own medicine.

"It's not like that. Her apartment got broken into and…"

He turns, taking the box from Jill's arms and shoving it into Claire's.

"And I thought you might be able to help her with this."

Claire peers down into the box and starts to laugh.

"That makes _so_ much more sense," she says, seemingly relieved, "Because she's _way_ out of your league."

Chris mumbles something under his breath.

"This is my sister." He announces. "And this is Jill, my partner. _Work_ partner."

Although he had already made that obvious, Jill smiles and awkwardly waves.

"I'm sorry you have to work with my brother." Claire tells her as she sets the box on the countertop. "And I'm sorry your apartment got broken into."

Claire is a lot like her brother, but she's much more charming. Jill is almost a little inspired by her energy.

"Yeah, well, the only thing you need to worry about fixing is her plant." Chris declares with a scowl. "Can you do it or not?"

Claire rolls her eyes and stands on her tiptoes to peek over the edge of the box again.

"Maybe." She looks back over her shoulder at Jill and winks. "I'll try."

Jill feels a little uncomfortable standing in the entryway of their apartment because it's almost as though she's witnessing something that she shouldn't. Forcing a smile, she nods and thanks her. She reminds herself that she's doing this for the plant. After all, it's the only thing she has left to remember her late foster mother by and Jill laments the possibility that it might not survive.

"Thank you." She earnestly says with a smile that she hopes seems more warm than it is forced. "It means a lot to me."

Claire nods her head, but her cordial expression falls as she narrows her eyes at Chris and gives him a nasty look.

"Well?" She asks, tapping her foot expectantly. "I can't save a life on an empty stomach."

Chris looks less than impressed.

"It's a plant, Claire."

"It's still alive."

Jill steps back a little to watch the two of them bicker. It seems appropriate for two hot-headed siblings to behave in such a way. Chris doesn't seem to get a break at work or at home and she feels a little apologetic about it. She should cut him a little more slack.

"Fine," Chris forfeits, "But you better fix the fucking plant."

* * *

Surprised seems like an understatement when describing the feeling he experiences upon finding Claire and Jill sitting beside one another on his couch, the two of them engaged in what seems like casual conversation. Claire doesn't bother to acknowledge him when he walks in with a heavy cardboard box full of steaming Chinese food, but Jill pauses mid-speech and turns to greet him with a smile.

As he sets the box down on the coffee table, he thinks about how odd the scenario is. Seeing Jill in such a relaxed state is almost jarring. She's always so uptight at work and is never the type to speak unless spoken to. Watching her chat and laugh with his sister and being greeted by her soft smile instills a foreign feeling in him, one that he ponders on even as he's chewing a mouthful of noodles.

"The plant must be pretty special to you." Claire muses aloud while gesturing towards Jill with the end of her chopsticks. "What's the story behind that?"

In response, Jill seems a lot more like herself. Her shoulders slump slightly and there's a moment of despondent silence between them. She tucks her hair behind her ear—her nervous habit that she uses to buy herself time to think, Chris has realized—and averts her blank stare to her plate. It's a question she doesn't want to answer.

Thankfully, Claire picks up on that, too.

"Oh," she shifts the subject, "Tell me about the case you guys are working on because Chris sure as hell won't."

Leave it to Claire to bring up tough subjects. He's about to reprimand her for being so daft, but Jill seems to perk up at the invitation to discuss the case.

"It's so weird," Jill tells her, "All these missing people with seemingly nothing in common."

"Maybe they're not all connected?" Claire asks as she pushes her pile of rice around on her plate.

Jill pauses at the thought and asks, "What do you mean?"

Claire shrugs nonchalantly and says, "Maybe they're not all connected and you're just getting too hung up on the details."

It's a valid suggestion. He's surprised it came from his sister.

"Like," Claire continues, "Maybe there's something going on with _some_ of them, but the rest might just be something else."

"A few of them are connected to Umbrella in some way." Jill reveals. "Former employees and interns."

"Everyone in Raccoon is connected to Umbrella." Chris reminds her and Claire nods in agreement.

He watches Jill sigh and press the pads of her fingers against her temples in apparent frustration.

"The only lead we have is this blood drive Umbrella sponsored and even that is weak." Jill laughs bitterly. "It's not even a lead, really. It probably means nothing, but we have nothing else to investigate."

"What's that all about?"

"Some dead guy," Chris contributes, "This creepy old fuck who preyed on young girls. He was in charge of arranging some blood drives at Umbrella or something and told his wife it was about making drugs or some shit, but I'm pretty sure he was just a fuckin' pervert."

Claire furrows her brow and asks, "Using a blood drive to fuck young girls? It doesn't really make much sense."

"Makes enough sense to me." Chris tells her. "The crusty old fuck probably played the hero card to impress girls. Kids are stupid."

"They were women, not kids." Jill corrects him. It's semantics.

"Kids to me." Chris retorts. "Doesn't it really matter?"

He swears he can hear the gears in Claire's head turning. She narrows her eyes as she thinks and idly taps her fingers against the edge of the table.

"Maybe you're wrong." Claire looks at him as she speaks. "Maybe that's not it."

He really didn't want to talk to her about this and he didn't expect Jill to be so open about it. Isn't she the one who plays by the book?

"The guy was a pervert." Chris insists, feeling a little annoyed by Claire's participation in the discussion. "Why else would some old fuck be hanging around teenagers?"

"Oh, _oh_!" Claire exclaims with excitement. "What if that's the connection?"

Chris tries not to get frustrated, but isn't that what he said?

"Yeah, the pervert. We're working on it."

Claire glares at him.

"No," she hisses in a reprimanding tone, "Umbrella is a research facility, isn't it? Maybe they were really using the blood for research and _that's_ the link between all your missing people, not Umbrella. There's something special about their blood that they all have in common."

How is it possible for his teenage sister to connect dots before he can? Fuck, he really is a shitty cop.

"Could be," Jill mumbles, "But why kill one of the girls?"

"Maybe the research is sketchy and she found out about it. Maybe they experimented on her and it went bad. Maybe it has nothing to do with it, I dunno."

Chris rolls his eyes. It's not a fucking movie. If Umbrella was involved in some conspiracy, someone would have ratted them out by now.

"I was almost on board, but you're starting to sound like Joseph now."

Unless...someone did plan on ratting them out and now they were rotting in the RPD's morgue. What a fucking headache this was turning out to be.

"Oh, come on. Joseph is way more ridiculous." Jill says with a laugh. "I mean...sasquatch?"

"Yeah, she's smarter than Joseph, but that doesn't mean she doesn't sound like a paranoid conspiracy theorist either."

Claire flips him off. He goes back to eating.

"I think we should check it out." Jill quietly says after a few moments have passed.

"It's weak." He tells her. "We can't get anywhere with that."

"It doesn't mean we can't try," Jill argues, "I mean...what do we have to lose?"

Her words sting like a slap to the face. She's right. They have nothing to lose because they've been too incompetent to find any breaks in the damn case. Jill has that faraway look in her eyes and he hates it. It's a look that doesn't belong to her, one that's best suited for the broken and disturbed.

"Yeah, alright." Chris says. "We'll look into it in the morning."

The hopeful smile on her face almost makes him grin in kind. He hopes it's enough to appease her worries for the night because she deserves some fucking sleep for once.

Claire makes small talk with Jill. Chris is impressed by the careful and innocuous conversation because it isn't like Claire to show self-restraint when it comes to butting into the business of others. She plays it safe, asks her about her favorite films, musical tastes, and other shit that doesn't really matter in the long run. It's a nice change of pace.

Once Claire bids them goodnight, they find themselves alone on the couch. Chris leans into the couch and sighs with content. He appreciates the quiet.

"You know," Jill speaks up, "About the case…"

It's always about the case. He's so _tired_ of the fucking case.

"Jill, look," he says with an exasperated sigh, "You've been working the case nonstop, your apartment just got broken into, and you never fucking sleep."

She looks surprised. Her blue eyes are wide and her jaw slackens as her lips part in awe.

"Get some rest tonight, alright?"

He doesn't know why he sounds so angry. He's not trying to sound angry.

"That's why I brought you here. You need to sleep, not worry all night about the fuckhead who broke into your apartment and the one running around killing people."

Jill is silent for a moment before her lips curl into a small smile.

"I thought I was here because of the plant." She teases.

Chris coughs.

"Yeah," he quickly says, "And the plant."

He feels like a fucking idiot. He shouldn't have brought her here. He sounds like a dumbass.

"Hey Chris," Jill softly says, "I…"

She looks him in the eye, tucks her hair behind her ear, and smiles.

"Thanks."

It makes him feel something and he's not sure how to feel about it.

* * *

The acrid smell of bleach and antiseptic reminds him of parts of his childhood that he'd rather forget. Chris has hated hospitals ever since he first stepped in one at eleven years old and it's a sentiment that has persisted even after a decade of being away from one. He decides to hold his breath as they walk down the blindingly white hallway and only lets it go in a harsh exhale once they're safe inside the elevator.

Jill gives him a strange look.

"The smell was bothering me." He explains as he leans against the back wall of the cab, doing his best to ignore the residual burning in his oxygen-starved lungs. "Must be allergic or something."

It's only a half lie and she seems to buy it. Jill turns her attention to the keypad and presses the button for the third floor with surprising confidence.

"It's the oncology floor." She explains to him. "I think oncologists usually specialize in hematology too."

"Sure."

Chris agrees because he really doesn't know what the hell she's saying, but she sounds like she knows what she's talking about. Whatever gets him out of there the quickest is fine with him and he's happy to let Jill take the lead on this one.

The elevator lurches forward in a way that makes him nervous as it starts its descent. He looks at the fluorescent lights above them and tightly clenches his eyes closed. Chris tries to preoccupy his mind by counting the seconds that pass and he pretends he doesn't hear machinery squeak under the burden of their combined weight. He clenches the metal safety rail behind them in his fist and finds that it's a lot smaller than the one he remembers hanging onto to keep from stumbling on shaky legs when he was a child.

He suddenly feels a lot like that child now. It's something he doesn't want to think about.

The chime that sounds when they reach the third floor is exactly as he remembered. He assumes that all hospitals employ the same elevator manufacturer and he thinks it's stupid. Chris blames corporate America or something, anything to keep from noticing just how much the nurses' station that awaits them looks like the one he's dreamt about a thousand times.

The woman at the desk keeps her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her as they approach. Her fingers move rapidly across the keyboard with practiced precision and her forehead is wrinkled in a way that threatens anyone who dares to break her concentration. Jill patiently waits at the edge of the desk as she types away and Chris keeps his distance by feigning interest in the generic painting of an oceanscape that's plastered on the wall. It's probably not even a real place.

"Sorry," the woman finally says, "I had to get it all down before I forgot."

Once he has committed the arrangement of seashells on the probably nonexistent beach to memory, he supposes that the jig is up and it's time for him to pretend to be a half-decent cop. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he saunters over to Jill as she's in the midst of conversation with the woman.

"You know about the blood drives?"

The elevated pitch in Jill's voice suggests that she's surprised. To be fair, he is too. Chris never expected this to pan out to be fruitful in any way.

"Sure," the woman says, "One of our physicians was in charge of them."

Chris watches a woman stumble out of her room halfway down the hall. Her bony white fist clenches an IV pole and the edge of her pale blue hospital gown slips down her sharp shoulder. She looks up from her sock-covered feet and he catches a glimpse of her dull green eyes that rest in the sunken-in bone around them. He thinks she looks familiar. The pale, paper-thin skin stretched over bone and the gaunt appearance of her face reminds him of his mother the last time he ever saw her—cold, pale, and _dead._

"This Dr. Lester," he hears Jill say, "Is he here?"

He returns his attention to the woman at the desk and she briefly glances at him through her periphery before looking back at Jill. He remembers that his mother was a redhead. This patient doesn't look anything like her. He needs to get a fucking grip.

"Not anymore."

She glances from one side to the other as if to ensure they're out of earshot. Satisfied with her findings, she rises a little from her chair and whispers, "Just between you and me, the guy was absolutely nuts."

Jill tilts her head to the side and leans in a little closer.

"What do you mean?"

He can tell Jill's excited, but it's hard to summon the same feeling. All he can focus on is the faint beeping sound that's coming from one of the rooms down the hall. He's heard it before, but he can't place the source of it.

"He used to be a good doctor. He was always up here with us and jumping in when things went south. A while back, he started disappearing and was never around. We'd page him over and over and never get a response…"

She cups the side of her mouth with her hand to muffle her voice and points down at the floor.

"You'll have to talk to the ICU nurses about it. Rumor says they had some kind of mold growing in one of the rooms and they found him down there talking to it. He started neglecting his patients because he was always looking for excuses to go down there. He eventually just stopped showing up to work."

Jill looks at him. He shrugs because he was only half-listening and isn't entirely sure of what's going on.

"Where's the ICU?"

"Second floor."

He follows her back to the elevator after she thanks the woman for her help. As soon as the doors begin to close, she whips around to face him.

"Are you alright?" She gently asks.

Is he alright? He's not sure he's ever been asked that question before.

"Yeah." He chokes out. "My breakfast just isn't sitting well with me."

He doesn't think Jill's buying it, but he's glad she doesn't press him any further. Chris acknowledges that he's being a bitch and tells himself to get it together. Now isn't the time to wallow in childhood trauma. He needs to man up and help Jill out. This could be a huge break.

His bravery is short-lived. As they walk through the sliding glass doors leading to the ICU, he's overwhelmed by the rhythmic sound of the respirators that force oxygen into the lungs of the dying. The puffing is slower than he remembers or maybe his father was more fucked up than the sad saps lying in the beds of this ICU. Regardless, he fucking hates this sound.

"Hello," Jill greets one of the nurses sitting outside of a room, "Do you have a moment?"

She doesn't seem sure how to respond. Chris flashes his badge at her. The sound of the ventilators is deafening.

"O-oh," she stutters, "Of course, officers."

Jill asks her about Dr. Lester. Chris watches the forced rise and fall of the man in the room's chest through the glass that separates them.

"It was room fifteen." He hears the nurse say. "It was this drug-resistant mold or something. They had trouble eradicating it."

"Is that normal?"

"I mean…ICUs are breeding grounds for drug-resistant organisms, but I've never seen mold like that before."

He stares at the monitor at the man's bedside and watches the jagged line that denotes the man's heart rhythm. It's moving faster than his father's did.

"He was in there a lot. I didn't ever go in there, but one of our charge nurses said he was always talking like someone was there. There wasn't ever anyone in there but him. They think he was talking to the mold."

Jill nudges him softly.

"Why…" He pauses, fumbling for a question to further a conversation that he wasn't really listening to in the first place. "Why would he talk to mold?"

"It happened before I started working here, but…" She turns in her chair to peek at the man in the room before turning back to the two of them. "I heard that his wife died in that room. There's a rumor going around that he thought it was her."

"He thought the mold was his wife?" Jill asks, her skepticism evident in her voice. "Why would a doctor think that?"

"I don't know." She replies. "Grief affects people in weird ways. It doesn't care what kind of education you have. I mean, maybe the spores did something to his brain."

That green line looks more reminiscent of his father's now. Chris doesn't know what that means.

"When did you last see Dr. Lester?"

Now it's slower than his father's was. He wonders if that's supposed to happen.

"It's been a while. Six months maybe?"

That sounds like more than enough time to become a serial killer. Maybe they really are onto something.

"Do you have any idea what happened to him? We heard he stopped coming to work with no explanation."

The nurse nods.

"Yeah, the rumor is that he holed himself up in his cabin in Arklay."

Jill immediately looks at him and he finally knows what she's trying to say. Strange noises. Arklay. Dr. Lester.

"Thanks." Chris says. "You've been very helpful."

Jill looks like she has more questions, but he thinks they have more than enough to work with. Dr. Lester sounds fucking insane and he has a cabin in Arklay. They can look up the details later because he needs to get the fuck out of there—and he does.

He mills about near the elevator. Jill sprints up to him.

"Hey," she breathlessly says, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Peachy." He lies.

Chris prays that he's only imagining the visible tremor in his hand as he presses the elevator call button. At the very least, he hopes she doesn't see it.

* * *

All eyes are on her as she announces their findings to the rest of the team. Chris is uncannily quiet as she explains the potential connection between the missing persons and the likelihood of Dr. Lester being involved in the matter. Even as Joseph throws out his far-fetched theories in support of their claims, Chris doesn't even seem to react.

"Maybe he was experimenting with blood to cure his lycanthropy." Joseph spitballs. "He's tired of losing control and mauling innocent hikers in Arklay. All he wanted to do was live a normal human life, but his bloodlust finally took over."

"I really can't stand you sometimes." Kevin grumbles. "Do you really believe the shit that comes out of your own mouth?"

"Don't ever lose your imagination, Jill," Joseph advises, "You'll end up lame and old like Ryman over here."

Jill smiles politely. She's too preoccupied with Chris's morose behavior to entertain Joseph's antics.

"It sounds plausible." Wesker decides. "Good work, Valentine."

She flinches at the compliment. Why only her?

"Chris is responsible for a lot of the findings as well, sir." She defends him.

Wesker doesn't give her much of a response and only grunts, "Hm. Of course."

The snarky tone in his voice is apparent to her and it irritates her a little. Chris deserved just as much credit as she did, if not _more._ She expects Chris to call Wesker on his prejudice, but he doesn't. Something isn't right and it's starting to worry her. This isn't the Chris she knows.

"Interview him." Wesker commands. "And Redfield…"

Chris regards him with a bored look.

"Do your best to refrain from botching the investigation with your temper tantrums."

Wesker is quick to leave in his usual infuriating way. The tension in the room is palpable as they wait for Chris to react, but he only takes a healthy swig of his coffee and begins to type away on his computer.

"Creepy fuckin' asshole." Joseph mumbles in place of whatever retort Chris would have summoned.

"Looks like he has a place downtown," Chris announces, "And one in Arklay."

Jill feels the thrill of excitement.

"So the rumors might have been true."

Chris nods and says, "Let's hit Arklay first."

Jill's already getting up from her desk when Joseph shouts, "Wait a sec!"

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling as he seems to think.

"You should get some wolfsbane just in case, don't ya think?" He asks. "And some silver. Werewolves hate silver."

Barry laughs quietly from the back of the office while Brad and Kevin both groan. Joseph takes his anger out on Brad, pointing at him accusingly as he yells, "No one asked you, Vickers!"

"Wolfsbane and silver," Jill comments with an amused smile, "Got it."

Barry makes eye contact with her and it makes her a little uncomfortable. He doesn't speak often, but when he does, it's always of value.

"Werewolves aside, it could get messy," he tells her, "Be careful."

Jill nods.

"Always."

She suddenly feels incredibly nervous.

* * *

"Do you want me to drive?" She quietly asks him as they approach their assigned car.

Chris shakes his head. She hesitates, but ultimately hands him the keys anyway.

It feels like her blood is buzzing once they hit the road. This could finally be _it._ This could be the end of the sleepless nights and impossibly heavy burden that has threatened to smother her ever since she moved to Raccoon City. Dr. Lester could very well be the man responsible for all of this and she might play a role in bringing his victims to justice. Maybe they'd even find some of them alive.

"This could be it." She announces aloud, turning her attention away from the road to Chris. "This might really be the end of it."

Chris pauses for a moment. She catches a glimpse of his dark irises as he momentarily regards her from his periphery.

"Maybe," he says, "But don't let your excitement introduce any bias to the investigation."

Jill almost gets pissed off by his comment, but the rational part of her knows that he's right. Innocent until proven guilty. Wasn't that one of the basics?

The weather doesn't fit the occasion. Arklay is welcoming thanks to the bright sunlight that filters between the leaves of the thick clusters of trees. A warm breeze combs through the vibrant patches of wildflowers that line the roughly graveled road that makes the ride uncomfortably turbulent. The engine of the police car whines as it attempts to traverse a particularly steep incline and Chris curses under his breath once they've made it over.

"Typical of Irons to issue pieces of shit like this." He grumbles, gesturing towards the dashboard.

That's the Chris she knows. Jill smiles with relief.

"You know, I can almost see the appeal now." She admits, rolling down the window a little to let the early summer air in. "The mountains are a lot more charming when the sun is out."

And, you know, when there isn't a bloated, rotting corpse sitting in front of her, too. That probably has something to do with it.

"It really is nice up here in the summertime. I used to spend a good bit of the summer on the river with the guys and my sister."

He grimaces before continuing and adds, "You know...before there were bodies in it."

Morbid, but there's a little dark humor in it, too. Jill grins slightly and nods her head in understanding, but it's hard for her to imagine Chris relaxing near the water. She doesn't think she's ever seen Chris relax anywhere if she's being honest with herself. Chris is always tense.

Dr. Lester's cabin doesn't appear to be the lodging of a murderer. She isn't sure what she expected when she imagined how it must look, but the carefully manicured lilac bushes that sit before the quaint little cabin weren't what she anticipated. Thanks to Joseph's antics, she supposes that she expected a run down shack shrouded in billowing fog and warning signs threatening any visitors to turn back.

Chris kills the engine and rests his hand on the gun at his hip. He looks over at her with a stern expression.

"Remember," he advises, "The priority here is your own safety."

Jill feigns a polite smile. Does he still think she's incompetent? She knows that a dead partner is of no use to him.

The warped boards on the porch groan beneath Chris's weight as he approaches the front door. He leans in close, ear hovering close to the door's surface as if concentrating to hear anything within. His brow furrows in concentration and he sighs, stepping back to knock loudly at the door.

Silence.

"Dr. Lester!" He shouts, palm curved around the grip of his pistol. "Police! We have a few questions for you!"

Jill has a hunch that no one is home and Chris apparently senses this too. He takes in a deep breath, steps back, and gives her no warning before forcing the door open with a swift ram of his shoulder.

It's the smell that gets her. That familiar, sickly sweet, rancid smell that assaults her senses the second the door flies open makes her stomach turn and she swallows hard in an attempt to force down anything that threatens to come up. She remembers this, the stench of decay, from their last visit to Arklay, but Michelle Sanders didn't _stink_ quite like this.

"Holy fuck." Chris coughs, lifting his arm to shield his nose and mouth in a way that doesn't seem the least bit effective given the disgusted look on his face.

The golden sunlight filtering in through the grime-covered windows doesn't detract from the scene that greets them. Her attention is immediately drawn to the rope that's stretched across the width of the cabin, slightly weighed down by the weight of the various dead animals that dangle from it. Jill's not even sure what half of them are on account of the degree to which they're rotten and mutilated, but she can make out pieces of feather and fur amid the viscera and bone.

Chris makes the first move, entering the cabin with a timid step. He takes care to avoid the blood that's splattered across the wooden floorboards in a way that suggests the animals were part of some deranged bloodletting process. Jill isn't sure that woodland creatures have enough blood to make the mess that's splashed across the walls and furniture alike.

The stone fireplace nearby is filled with a pile of bones. Jill looks away, but there's death all over this fucking cabin. Everywhere she turns, she sees some evidence of it—errant blood splatters, tufts of fur, sharpened blades, and splintered shards of bone. It's almost cliche enough to fit in with Joseph's werewolf theory and she might have laughed if she wasn't so disgusted by it all.

"Jill."

There's something strange about his voice, a tremor of some sort that doesn't fit Chris Redfield. Jill looks away from the scratches in the floorboards to see him standing in the kitchenette, his broad shoulders and back blocking her view of whatever's sitting in front of him. She makes her way to him hesitantly, not entirely sure that she wants to see what he has discovered.

Jill isn't an expert, but the long bone sitting on the countertop certainly didn't come from any woodland creature she knows of. She stares at the yellowed surface of the bone and the porous filling made visible by the crack in its shaft and feels a little woozy.

"I don't think this came from an animal." Chris murmurs and she watches his gaze fall on the length of her thigh.

It's suspiciously comparable in length to her own thigh. She thinks it looks a lot like the bones she has seen on the plastic skeleton shoved in the back of her high school science classroom. It's a fucking human femur and she _knows_ it, but she doesn't want to admit it.

"I'm gonna call it in." Chris tells her.

She can't look away from it. She doesn't want him to leave her alone in this cabin, not even for a fucking minute, but she doesn't dare say it aloud.

"Be careful." She whispers hoarsely and Chris cracks the slightest hint of a smile and tells her that of _course_ he will in his usual confident way.

Jill preoccupies herself by pacing around the cabin. She looks for any semblance of normalcy that she can find—a photo of Dr. Lester with who she assumes to be his late wife, a light jacket hanging on the wall, a jar of peanut butter sitting on the kitchen counter, a backpack carelessly discarded on a nearby chair.

She isn't one to judge, but she doesn't think that the various band patches sewn all over the face of the bag look like Dr. Lester's taste. Jill knows what she's going to find, but she ignores the alarm bells ringing in the back of her head. She rifles through the bag and finds various items—a water bottle, beef jerky, a first aid kit—and frowns when she procures the worn leather wallet from inside.

Eric Andrews is—was?—a bright-eyed, twenty-one year old man from Tennessee.

Jill cringes when she sees his height printed on the plastic card. She looks back over her shoulder at the bone sitting on the counter. Eric Andrews is— _was_ —5'5".

She's 5'5".

"Chris!" She calls out on instinct, hands trembling slightly as she pulls the ID out of the wallet.

He's already rushing inside when she looks up and she hands him the card without a word. He looks down at it, presumably reads over it a few times, and then looks up to stare at the bone sitting on the counter.

"Fuck."

* * *

Jill's sitting in the seat beside him with her knees drawn to her chest and her temple pressed against the window. She sighs softly and closes her eyes, rubbing at them with the backs of her balled up fists.

"I wonder if he knows." She wonders aloud, looking over at him as she asks, "Do you think he's coming back?"

Chris shifts in his seat. His neck is stiff from staring at the cabin and sitting in place for so long.

"Doubt it."

He should have had Jill call it in. Wesker was quick to order them to stay in place for surveillance while deploying the others. If Jill had called, they'd probably be on their way to arrest the fucker.

Barry's voice comes through the radio, broken by static. He and Vickers have reached their destination.

"Do you think they'll find him?"

Chris shrugs.

"Barry and Ryman are good cops, but they're handicapped by Vickers and Frost."

Jill smiles for the first time in a few hours. The sun is starting to set and the warm orange light gives her a healthy glow that makes her grin seem just a little brighter.

"I'm sure they'll find him." He tries to reassure her. "It'll all be over soon."

He doesn't really know if he believes his own words, but he likes the way they make her smile.

The radio stirs to life again. Ryman announces that they've arrived at their location.

"You're right," she says, "Probably."

They're quiet for a while. He watches the wind rustle the leaves of the nearby trees and wonders how long this will take.

"I can't believe this is almost over." Jill sighs. "What are we going to do with all our free time?"

She laughs awkwardly and he smiles.

"I guess we'll just wait for the next psychopath to start committing crimes in Raccoon City, but…"

He swallows as he tries to summon up the courage to say what comes next.

"Even if we aren't the ones to catch him, you should be proud of yourself. I mean, we didn't have any leads until you showed up."

Jill laughs nervously and tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

"You all would have figured it out eventually," she insists, "I was just lucky."

He can't tell if the hint of red in her cheeks is from the sunset or her own humility.

"Nah," he shakes his head and holds in a laugh, "Frost probably would have convinced us that it was a sasquatch. We'd have been chasing nothing."

"He still could be a werewolf, you know." Jill teases. "Joseph could still be right."

Static comes through the radio. He can't make out anything on the other end.

"Could be." He tells her. "And monkeys could fly out of my ass."

Jill rolls her eyes. The radio crackles again.

"— _can't believe it!"_ Joseph's voice comes through at an ear-piercing volume. " _We got him! We fuckin' got him!"_

Jill looks at Chris with wide eyes. He isn't sure he heard him right.

"You got Lester?" He asks for confirmation.

" _You bet we fuckin' got him! Creepy ass fucker!"_

He can't fight the grin that breaks out on his face. Jill laughs, all teeth and smiles, and she grabs his hand tight.

"Oh god," she breathlessly says, "It's over. It's _over._ "

Her hand is warm and soft in his. Their palms fit together so well.

"I can't believe it!" She presses a hand to her chest, right over her heart. "We were right. We were _right,_ Chris!"

He wants to correct her. Chris wants to tell her that _she_ was right, that everything was her idea and he merely followed her around. He wants to tell her that she's sharp, that she was right all along, that _they_ should be the ones thanking her for solving this case. He wants to tell her that he doesn't think they would have solved it without her.

Chris looks at her, into her pale blue eyes and along the soft edges of her face. He thinks about how wrong he was about her, how he was a huge fucking asshole and took his shitty attitude on her on the first day. He thinks about the dark circles under her eyes, the visible evidence of all her sleepless nights that she has poured into this case, and he thinks about how _alive_ she seemed that night at the bar.

He glances down at her mouth. The scabs are gone. Her lips look so soft.

Closing his eyes tightly, he swallows hard to find some sense of relief. He doesn't know why he feels like this.

When he opens them again, she's looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes. Her smile is gone and she tilts her head to the side just slightly. She's concerned about him.

"Hey," she whispers, "You okay?"

She has this little dimple in her chin that he's never really noticed before.

"Yeah," he lies, nodding his head, "Just...in shock, I guess."

Shocked because he's thinking about how _pretty_ Jill Valentine is.

"I get it. I mean, I can't believe it's over. It happened so fast and…"

He watches her mouth move, but he doesn't really hear what she's saying.

Chris doesn't understand what's happening to him, but he's starting to suspect that Jill Valentine is gonna break his fucking heart someday and he doesn't know what to do because he's never, _ever_ felt like this before and he's sure as fuck not ready for it.

Not yet.


	4. Just Friends

Chris can't shake the feeling that something is horribly, _horribly_ wrong. As he stands outside of the interrogation room, he steals a glance at Jill. She's calmly standing beside him, arms neatly folded across her chest as she stares through the one-way mirror that grants them a view of what's happening within. He doesn't see any outward signs that she shares the sentiment, but he knows that something just isn't right about this.

Al Lester's cuffed hands are covered in something dark and reminiscent of soil. Chris watches the restless movements of his hands and the way his fingers weave together and separate in a rapid rhythm. It's an expression of anxiety, he thinks, or maybe the guy's hopped up on some kind of stimulant. Regardless of the reason, he seems uncomfortable, and Chris thinks that's the least he deserves.

"Eric Andrews," Kevin sternly says, sliding a photocopy of the photo on the man's license across the table, "Where is he?"

Dr. Lester's dark, beady eyes clench closed and he laughs.

"Gone," he says, "Very useful."

Joseph glances at the one-way mirror with a bewildered look on his face.

"Useful for what?"

"Dorothy needs _sustenance._ " He hisses, tugging on the metal restraints. The chain clinks and the table he's tethered to rattles. "She _needs_ me. I need to go."

He notices Jill move in his periphery. She uncrosses her arms and straightens her body, stepping a little closer to the mirror to listen intently.

"Who is Dorothy?" Kevin inquires. "Your wife Dorothy?"

Al nods frantically, head swiftly bobbing up and down. His skin appears ashen under the fluorescent lights of the interrogation room and Chris wonders if his illness afflicts more than just his mind. The guy looks diseased.

"Dr. Lester, we looked into your history." Kevin reveals, leaning back in his chair and resting his hand on the edge of the table. "Dorothy died. She's dead."

" _NO!_ "

He begins to thrash, tugging hard on the restraints and shaking his head. "Not dead, not dead, not _dead._ "

Suddenly, he pauses. He stares blankly across the table, perhaps at Kevin, and then his thin lips curl into a smile.

"Dorothy is immortal." He mumbles. "But she needs _sustenance_. Alive, not dead. Alive, not dead. Alive. _NOT_ _DEAD_."

The color drains from Joseph's face. His eyes are wide and he turns to the mirror again. Chris doesn't know what's running through his head, but he's sure it's fucking stupid.

"The mold." Jill whispers and looks back at Chris from over her shoulder. "Like the nurse at the hospital said. Is he talking about the mold?"

Chris thinks this might be one of the dumbest conversations he's ever had in his life. A man who believes mold is his wife. How is he going to explain this in the written report?

"I don't know. Probably."

She's thinking. He knows by the way her eyes narrow just slightly and the subtle movement of her teeth worrying the inside of her lower lip. This is pensive Jill, the one who keeps herself awake at night with a thousand and ten thoughts about the case. This is the Jill who makes him feel something that he's not sure he's ready to experience yet.

"I thought the hospital eradicated the mold."

"The man is crazy, Jill. Maybe he's hallucinating. Maybe he took it home with him. Who fucking knows?"

Oh shit.

Chris pulls himself away from the wall he's leaning against and moves to the window.

"That's what it is. He has the mold and he's feeding it with…"

He closes his eyes and the image of the cabin comes rushing back. The bones, the blood, the fur—it's all been seared into his mind. He can't figure out the logistics of what he's suggesting, but the entire case isn't making much sense anyway. Lester is mutilating bodies to feed his pet plant.

"...everything, I guess." He finishes with a grimace.

Jill wrinkles her nose and regards him with a skeptical look.

"Doesn't mold live on...I don't know, sunlight and water?"

Like he knows the answer to that. He'll ask Claire later.

"Probably, but he's fucking crazy. He probably _thinks_ it's eating all the shit he brings it."

Chris realizes he's starting to sound like Joseph and he hates it. The last thing he wants is for Jill to peg him as a deranged conspiracy theorist. He sighs and diverts his attention back to the interrogation at hand. In his defense, the man thinks his damn wife is _mold_.

"And Michelle Sanders?" Kevin asks. "Is she one of yours too?"

He slides a photograph of the poor girl's body across the table. Al's attention flitters across it for a fleeting moment.

"Mhm." He grins. "Uh-huh."

Joseph has a disgusted look on his face as he asks, "Why? Why did you kill a nineteen-year-old girl?"

"For Dorothy!" He shouts. "Dorothy must _live._ "

As much as he hates to admit it, Chris isn't convinced. He wants justice for Michelle Sanders, but something tells him that this isn't her killer. The girl was mutilated, but she was still relatively intact. This fucker didn't kill her to feet a fucking plant. The fucker probably didn't kill her at _all._ It doesn't fit his pattern.

"No," Chris quietly says, "He didn't kill her."

He wishes he wouldn't have said it aloud. Jill looks at him like he's just ripped her heart out of her chest and thrown it onto the floor. There's a particular solemn quality to her, one that makes her plummeting morale obvious. He thinks she knows he's right, but she doesn't want to admit it. Honestly, neither does he.

"I think you're right." She confesses with a wry smile. "Michelle doesn't fit."

Part of him wants to take it back. He wants to find some weak, bullshit link to tie Lester to Michelle's case, but he just _can't._ Jill is watching him with somber eyes and he assumes she's waiting for him to say something to make this all seem right. He wishes he could.

Chris tries and says, "Maybe she's the only one. Just a random accident thrown in with the rest of Lester's victims."

She smiles weakly. He shrugs. Neither of them buy it and he knows it.

The door loudly opens and he watches Kevin exit the room with Joseph in tow. Joseph hastily pulls the door closed behind himself, sucks in a deep breath, and boasts a look of genuine fear.

"This guy is so fuckin' creepy," he whispers, cupping the side of his mouth to muffle his voice as though Lester can somehow hear him, "Dorothy sounds like a…"

"Don't say it." Kevin hisses, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"...like a zombie. I mean, like, brain-eating Romero zombies."

Kevin groans and covers his face. "I knew this was coming."

Chris isn't really in the mood. He doesn't bother to shoot Joseph down this time and turns to Jill.

"You ready?" He asks and she nods curtly.

"Good luck." Kevin offers as he steps away to permit them clearance.

"Remember," Joseph whispers, "He could still be a werewolf. Lycan until proven human."

The interrogation room is dark and cold. It instantly puts him in a bad mood, but he supposes that's the point. It isn't meant to be a comfortable experience and he hates the chilled metal chair he lowers himself into. Maybe Lester hates his even more.

Dr. Lester looks like complete shit. The dull blue glow of the lightbulb suspended above them adds to the dismal mood. His eyes are dull and sunken in, skin so stark in appearance that Chris imagines that it's frigid to the touch. Dr. Lester almost looks like one of his own victims—gaunt, waxy, and empty—and the irony of it isn't lost on Chris.

"Hello, Dr. Lester." Jill greets as she slides her chair closer to the desk. "I'm sorry we have to meet this way."

Chris grunts. Jill is always so much softer than he is. If he could greet the fucker with a kick in the teeth, he definitely would.

"If you don't mind, could you tell me a little about Raccoon General?"

"Raccoon General is a 556 bed facility located in th—"

"Cut the shit." Chris snaps. "That's not what she means."

Dr. Lester grins wickedly. The shadows between teeth seem exaggerated in the harsh light. He seems nearly feral and Chris wonders if this is the last face Eric Andrews saw before being slaughtered.

"I spoke to some of your former colleagues. I heard about what happened in room fifteen."

His expression falls. He hunches over the table, shoulders rounding as he leans in closer to Jill.

"You know about Dorothy?" He whispers with a sense of wonder in his voice.

"I know a little," Jill admits, "But I'd like to learn more about her."

Dr. Lester leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. He seems to be thinking, but Chris thinks that classifying a psychopath's delusions as thought is a bit too generous.

"My sweet, sweet Dorothy…"

His voice is so quiet that he strains to hear him.

"My lovely Dorothy…"

He looks down at the table, twiddling his fingers together.

"Everyone wanted to give up on my Dorothy," he begins, "They wanted to let my poor, lovely Dorothy _DIE_."

Dr. Lester starts to laugh. It's loud at first, slowly fading into soundless, breathy laughter.

"But I saved her. Hahaha...I _SAVED HER!_ "

"What did you save her from?" Jill gently asks. "Was she sick?"

His demeanor shifts. Dr. Lester falls uncomfortably quiet. Chris watches him carefully, unsure of what is to come. The man's face twists into an expression of agony and, for a moment, Chris almost forgets that he's fucking insane. The fleeting empathy that he feels for the doctor surprises him. Since when does he feel anything but anger and resentment?

"Cancer," Dr. Lester whispers hoarsely, "It was everywhere. Just...eating through her."

"That's horrible." Jill earnestly says. "I can't imagine what it was like for both of you."

Chris doesn't have anything to contribute. He allows Jill to take the reins because she has the patience and willpower to handle a criminal with kid gloves. It's something he's not even remotely capable of and, truth be told, he doesn't know what the hell to say to the motherfucker.

"How did you cure her?"

Of course. Even when she's beating around the bush, Jill is as direct as possible.

Dr. Lester stares down at his interlaced fingers with an empty, glazed-over look in his eyes. Chris isn't sure that he even heard Jill's question. He can hear the loud ticking of the clock poised high up on the wall in the silence. It makes him anxious.

"T. J. C, C, C…" Dr. Lester whispers. "2...0...3!"

"What?" Chris finally speaks up. "What did you say?"

"T-JCCC 203." Dr. Lester murmurs. "T-JCCC 203. **T** -JCC _203_!"

Chris and Jill share a look. Neither of them know what the hell he's on about.

"What does that mean?" Jill prods. "Is that a drug?"

Dr. Lester appears appalled by the question. His eyebrows shoot upward, his eyes narrow, and his lips part in awe.

"Are you _stupid_?" He suddenly asks.

Chris clenches his fist. He wants to wring the fucker's neck.

"It seems that way," Jill admits with an amused smile, "What is it?"

"Dog eats dog. Dog eats dog. Dog _eats_ dog. Fight fire with fire. Apoptosis...T-JCCC 203. Initiate death sequence...promote caspase activity. Dephosphorylation, dog _eat_ dog."

Right. Of course. De...whatever-the-fuck. He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about and it doesn't seem like Jill does either. It doesn't seem like _he_ even knows what the fuck he's on about.

"What does that mean?" Chris demands, exasperation evident in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

Dr. Lester begins to laugh. It's harsh and sudden—a loud, cackling, coughing fit of laughter that subsides into an exhausted chortle.

"Dog eat dog, dog eat dog, dog eat dog." He chants, tightly entwining his fingers together and banging his joined hands against the table. "Dog eats dog, detective! DOG _**EATS**_ DOG!"

He continues to strike the table with hard, rhythmic blows. His eyes roll back in his head to reveal his grey, bloodshot sclera, and he begins to gurgle. He tilts his head backwards and looks up at the ceiling. Spittle flies through the air as he speaks.

"Apoptosis. Dog eat dog. Dog eats dog. Cancer dies. Apoptosis. Human eats _human._ "

It suddenly feels as though each and every strand of hair on his body is standing on end. A chill runs down his spine as he washes Dr. Lester gnash his yellowed teeth and laugh.

"Have you ever eaten a human?" He whispers. "The flesh...such tender, supple flesh…"

He can suddenly smell the damp earth and the tart taste of decay wafting in the air. When he blinks, Michelle's corpse is painted on the backs of his eyelids. He remembers the missing chunks of flesh and the exposed meat of her thigh. He realizes that perhaps those bites weren't so animal-like after all...

"...they eat the flesh. They tear and eat the supple flesh. No dogs eat dogs, you fools. Humans eat humans. No, no...not humans, no. Not humans...not anymore."

Dr. Lester's face falls. His brow creases.

"Oh...Dorothy. Dorothy must be so _hungry._ "

He twists his neck, turns to look back at the clock and sighs.

"How much longer will this take, detectives? Dorothy... _oh_ , she must be so hungry. My lovely, sweet Dorothy..."

Chris thinks he sees Jill's fingers tremble as she closes the file in front of her.

"Hopefully not much longer, Dr. Lester." She says, face stiff with an empty, feigned smile. "Thank you for your time."

The scrape of her chair against the tile floor is almost deafening as she stands. Chris follows suit.

"Not humans. Not anymore. Not humans. Humans don't eat humans. Monsters eat humans. Dorothy…"

A strangled sob escapes Dr. Lester.

"My Dorothy...she's not a monster. No. Sometimes...sometimes humans eat humans. It's a mistake. A simple mistake. The tender flesh. She's just so _hungry._ Humans eat monsters."

Chris nudges Jill's shoulder.

"Come on." He whispers. "Let's go back to the office."

"Monsters? _Monsters_? Monsters don't talk…"

Jill looks at the man chained to the table one last time. Dr. Lester laughs.

"Monsters...monsters walk, detective! The tender flesh! Protect your flesh…"

Chris gives Jill's shoulder a light shove.

"Come on."

Dr. Lester's laughter is still audible once the door has slammed shut and they've made it halfway down the hallway. Chris coughs to try to cover the fading sound as he repeatedly mashes the call button for the elevator. The cab's already there, but the doors part at an agonizingly slow pace.

Neither of them know what to say. They exchange glances. They're both too stunned to process whatever the hell is wrong with Albert Lester.

Their office feels different. Chris had grown accustomed to the tense, stern atmosphere that the stress of the case had created. This cheery attitude—the one created by Joseph bouncing around the office and Kevin smirking smugly to himself—feels out of place. He tells himself it's because of the sudden change in mood, but he knows the _real_ reason. This case hasn't fully been solved.

"So, like," Joseph throws his hands up in the air, "Is that guy not the creepiest fuck you've ever met?"

Jill laughs quietly and says, "It's possible."

"Well, he's definitely the creepiest fucker I've ever met." Joseph nods to himself. "Like...like...what the hell, man? His wife didn't really eat people, right?"

The color drains from his face and his mouth falls open.

"Oh god...are we sure she's dead?!" He shouts. "Like, are we super sure she's dead? Like on a scale of one to sure, we're sure...right?"

"Pretty damn sure," Kevin tries to assure him, "Body was cremated. She's got a place in the mausoleum at the graveyard near Arklay."

Joseph seems skeptical. He purses his lips and squints.

"Cremated, huh? How convenient…"

Chris thinks it's time to intervene.

"You're focusing on the wrong thing." Chris sternly says. "We need to look at Michelle Sanders."

Kevin raises an eyebrow.

"What about it? He admitted it. Lester killed her."

He looks at Jill. She's looking at him. He can hear the faint sound of the toe of her boot anxiously tapping against the carpet.

"You really think so?" Chris inquires. "I'm not so sure. She doesn't fit the others. Lester didn't leave bodies behind. He...he sounds like he was using them to feed whatever he thinks is his wife. Why would he leave Michelle intact? We could very realistically be looking at two different killers."

The room is quiet.

"It's not impossible," Barry pitches in from his corner, "But statistically, it's very unlikely."

Brad's glancing around the room. Chris thinks he's surveying them all to figure out what side he should take because the dipshit can't ever make a decision for himself.

"You don't know that though." Kevin counters. "We've still got some outstanding people. Lester will crack and tell us where they are. They're probably all gnawed up like Sanders."

Brad's bobbing his head in an emphatic nod. Joseph strokes his chin in thought.

"If Dorothy is a zombie—"

"She's not." Kevin interrupts. "She's dead."

"Well, zombies are tech—"

"Stop."

Kevin's not his usual easygoing self. This isn't playful Joseph bullying. Kevin is genuinely irritated.

"I've just got a bad feeling." Chris admits, drawing the attention away from Joseph. "Maybe it was Lester, but we don't know for sure. I don't want us to celebrate prematurely and miss something."

Kevin glares at him.

"You want us to hold this up based on a bad feeling?"

Chris doesn't know what the hell's up with him.

"That's not what I said," he explains, "We just need to continue to be thorough with the investigation and make sure Lester really is responsible for all these missing people."

Joseph frowns. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the edge of his desk.

"If he really did kill them all, he probably forgot where all the bodies are. I don't think he's very reliable."

That's probably the most rational thing to ever come out of his mouth.

"Maybe you're right." Jill softly says. "And Chris is right too. We need to stay vigilant."

Kevin sighs heavily. He spins around in his chair to face both Chris and Jill directly. The tight grip he has on the arm rests of his chair seems excessive.

"Why can't you just let this case be solved?"

Chris can't believe the words coming out of Kevin's mouth.

"Excuse me?"

He feels like he's shaking. Why the fuck is Kevin not in his corner? Why the fuck is he challenging him? What the _fuck_ is he trying to say?

"I just don't get why you can't let it go." Kevin waves his hand as he speaks. "Lester got caught. He admitted to the murder. Why can't you accept that?"

Chris thinks he's gonna snap. Of all the fucking assholes it could have been, why is it Ryman? Why is he turning on him?

"Maybe because I'm a good fucking cop?" Chris asks. "Maybe because I want justice for the families of the dead?"

"This is justice!" Kevin exclaims. "Lester said he did it. They have a man to hate now."

"And what if he's _not_ the one? We just sit back and twiddle our thumbs while we wait for the real culprit to kill more innocent civilians? Are you gonna be the one to go back and tell the families, 'Oh, sorry, we jumped the gun on that one...your daughter's killer is still prowling the streets?'"

He's suddenly aware of how hard he's breathing. His chest almost hurts on account of how roughly it's rising and falling. He clenches his eyes shut, takes in a deep breath through his nose, and tries to lie to himself about it being cleansing or whatever the fuck Claire claims. His face feels hot and he feels everyone's eyes on him.

"You have a problem, man." Kevin grunts. "Get help."

"I don't understand what the fuck your problem is."

"My problem is that I want this shit to be _over_!"

"And you think I _don't_?"

"I don't know what the hell you think."

He's mad. He's so fucking mad. What the fuck is happening right now? Why the fuck aren't they listening to him? He's being perfectly reasonable. What the fuck is the problem? Did they all fucking forget how to be a goddamn cop?

"Chris."

It's Jill. Jill's saying his name and he's suddenly aware of the soft pads of her fingers that are resting against his wrist.

"Let's take a break." She gently proposes, but he knows it's not a suggestion. Jill's telling him what to do and he's strangely okay with this.

The beat of blood in his ears and the humming in his veins is growing quieter. He feels the heat dissipating from his face.

"Yeah," he says, "Alright."

He almost stops giving a fuck about Kevin's bullshit when she's tugging on his wrist and leading him out the door. She glances at him from over her shoulder, smiles, and he thinks that maybe the world is alright for a little while because at least she's in it.

He'll deal with that asshole later.

* * *

"We could be wrong, too."

Jill watches his chest rise as he takes a long drag of his cigarette and she wrinkles her nose at him to make her disgust for the habit known. She doesn't understand why Chris smokes the way he does. It's an erratic behavior, one that he doesn't seem to indulge in on a daily basis, and she doubts he's addicted to nicotine because of it. If he doesn't crave it, what's the point?

She's overthinking this.

"Yeah," he says with a long exhale, "We could be, but we need to be sure."

She watches the cloud of smoke slowly fade away. The smell of it bothers her.

"We could talk to Wesker about it."

Chris freezes in the midst of bringing the cigarette back to his lips. He's looking at her like the suggestion is completely outlandish.

"We're not involving Wesker," he tells her, "He's not going to listen."

Jill crosses her arms over her chest. How can Chris be so sure? If they have a rational argument, surely he'll entertain it. Logic outweighs their petty rivalry.

"How do you know?"

She thinks she sees his brow twitch. Is he mad at her too?

"Jill…"

He sighs and turns his head to the side, peering out at the parking lot. His jaw is set tight and his forehead is wrinkled with his stressed expression.

"It's all a political game. Wesker has Irons looming over him and all Irons gives a fuck about is the press." He looks at her. "Closing this case is positive press. Raccoon City rejoices and praises their heroic chief of police. It doesn't matter if we got the right guy."

She understands where the accusation comes from. Irons is a sleaze.

"Well…"

She looks down at her feet and toes at the dirt.

"I hope we got the right guy then."

Chris leans against the brick exterior of the precinct and tilts his head back. The sunlight across his face highlights the sharp, masculine edges of his face. She sees a lot of him in Claire—both physically and in personality—and she wonders what it's like to be close enough to someone for it to influence the way you are. Jill thinks they must have been close when Claire was growing up. She wonders if they're still that close now.

"I think," he begins, interrupting her thoughts, "I think we should go to Arklay."

"I thought you said Wesker won't let that fly because of Irons."

He looks down at her and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. Is he anxious?

"I mean…"

He fidgets a little, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"We should go on our own time. Alone. No one has to know."

Jill isn't sure what to think about this.

"What do you think is in Arklay?"

"I don't know," he says with a sigh, "But it might make us feel better. I mean, it'll probably make me feel more at ease to look it all over one last time."

She's conflicted. If they find anything, it can't be used. They'd have to persuade Wesker and Chris made it sound like an arduous and uncertain task. If they don't find anything, maybe Lester was the guy after all. Maybe it'll bring them peace. Maybe it'll bring her peace.

"What if we find something?" She asks. "What if we are right?"

He shrugs.

"I dunno. We'll cross that bridge if we get to it."

It's all up in the air and Jill _hates_ not having a plan. They don't know what they're looking for, what they'll find, or how they'll handle it. It stresses her out and makes her stomach feel like it's been tied in a knot.

Jill thinks about giving up on their hunch, but then Chris looks at her with those deep brown eyes and says, "You're the only person I can trust."

She mulls it over. If she's the only person he can trust, is the converse true for her as well? Joseph loves to gossip. Kevin seems dead set on believing Lester. Wesker's hands are tied. Brad is...Brad. Barry seems like a nice enough guy, but…

"You're the only one I can trust too."

The words come out of her mouth even before she's conscious of the realization. They surprise her a little and she feels her heart skip a beat because she's not sure that she should have said it, but the stressed lines in his face disappear and Chris smiles at her.

"Tonight then?"

He knows she has nothing better to do.

"Sure."

When did her life become addled with paranoia and conspiracies?

* * *

All she can think about is how uncannily quiet it is. The only discernible noise is the crunch of twigs and fallen leaves beneath their feet, sounds that are made almost deafeningly loud by the pervasive silence that surrounds them.

"Something isn't right," Jill finally speaks up, "It's too quiet."

Chris pauses. She strains to make out a single sound.

"I know."

It seems as though the entire forest is dead. The way the harsh light of their flashlights highlight the twisted, deformed trees ahead of them adds to the already tense atmosphere. Vegetation fills the gaps between them, rattled messes of thorns and rotting piles of damp leaves littering the ground for as far as she can see.

"I did some research." Chris tells her. "There's something here that I want to see."

She wonders why he didn't mention this sooner. Doesn't he trust her?

"What is it?"

"There's an old hospital out here that was abandoned decades ago. The surrounding area was evacuated because of rumors about high levels of radiation coming from nearby rock formations. I just wonder…"

She wonders now too.

"Are we even going to be able to find it like this?"

Chris pauses and looks at her with concern.

"You doubt me?" He asks. "I was a Boyscout, you know."

Jill can't even imagine him as a kid, let alone a Boyscout.

"Were you really?"

He laughs.

"No, but I grew up in Yeehaw-ville, U.S.A.. I've gotten lost in enough forests as a kid to figure out how to get through one."

After what feels like an endless trek through damp air and twisted trees, they stumble across a dilapidated, two-story building, one that's so overgrown with ivy that she can barely make out the bricks that create the structure. One side of the building has been partially destroyed, its wall damaged and cracked in areas to allow the petrified roots of some sort of plant to escape from within. The cracked window panes reflect the beams of their flashlights back at them and she can't see much through the filth that coats their surfaces.

The stone steps leading up to the building are crumbled and she half expects them to collapse into dust as she ascends them. A cool breeze gently flitters past, licking at the beads of sweat that have started to surface on the back of her neck, and Jill shivers slightly as she follows Chris inside.

The foyer smells damp, earthy, and ripe. Jill tries to ignore the pungent odor as she slowly surveys the room in the little light she has. The furniture nearby is covered in a thick layer of dust and it makes the uncannily clean reception desk seem even more out of place. It's polished to such perfection that the moonlight peering through the skylight above bounces back off of it.

"Chris," she whispers, "I think someone has been by."

She nudges his shoulder and gestures towards the desk. His shoulder stiffens beneath her hand.

"Might have been Lester."

Jill isn't necessarily convinced. If his cabin was any indication of his habits, he wasn't a particularly clean man. She doesn't give it too much thought and instead wanders to the directory nearby, wiping it clean with the side of her hand and grimacing at the grime that now covers her skin. It's a small hospital, one that only has three wards, and she's grateful that there doesn't seem to be much to explore.

They find themselves standing outside of the intensive care unit on the eastern side of the facility. Chris rests his hand on the surface of one of the swinging doors that separates the unit from the rest of the facility. The walls around them are stained with black.

"Be careful."

Chris pushes the door open and comes to a startled stop in the doorway.

The room has been engulfed by something that she can't identify. Long, root-like ropes of some sort of plant are stretched across the floor, running up the sides of the walls and disappearing through broken ceiling tiles. Tufts of soft, green moss are present all around the room, spanning the length of the walls and floor.

Jill turns, following the perimeter of the room with her light, and gasps.

"Is that…"

Nestled in the furry substance are rotting shards of grey bone. Part of a human skull is visible with a thick bundle of moss protruding from the eye socket. She thinks she sees part of a ribcage, maybe the edge of a pelvis, and as she follows it all with her light, she thinks she's going to be sick.

"Are you here to visit Mrs. Dorothy?"

The sound of the voice nearly makes her leap out of her own skin. She spins around to find herself face-to-face with a young woman. Jill presses a hand against her chest, right over her racing heart, and the woman smiles.

She's holding a lamp that glows with an orange light. Jill notes the pale green scrubs she's wearing.

"Who are you?"

She looks at Chris with the same warm smile.

"I'm Mrs. Dorothy's caregiver," she introduces herself, offering him a small hand, "My name is Yoko."

Jill looks back over her shoulder at the skeleton that appears to be sinking into the wall.

"Is that her?"

Yoko nods.

"She's been lonely lately. We haven't seen Dr. Lester in a while. She'll be so happy to see you."

She quickly shuffles past them. Jill looks at Chris and he shrugs as he mouths, _what the fuck?_

Yoko's standing on her tiptoes and sweeping the moss back with gentle strokes of her hand.

"Wake up, Mrs. Dorothy," she whispers, "You have visitors."

Chris awkwardly clears his throat. Jill isn't sure how she should respond. Should she play along?

Yoko turns around and she catches a glimpse of her profile in the poor lighting. She swears that something isn't right. Something is off.

"I'm sorry, but Mrs. Dorothy says she's too tired for visitors right now."

Chris snorts.

"Yeah, sounds about ri—"

"That's okay." Jill interjects. She's still not sure how to handle this, but she knows letting Chris open his mouth is the wrong thing to do. "Do you mind answering a few questions for us?"

Yoko nods.

"Can we do it in the foyer?" She asks. "Mrs. Dorothy is trying to sleep and I don't want to disturb her."

Yoko is already walking past them towards the foyer. Jill gives Chris a stern look.

"What?" He hisses. "She's fucking insane."

"I _know,_ " Jill whispers back, "But we can't tell her that."

"Why not?"

Jill doesn't have an educated answer for this. It just feels like the wrong thing to do.

"If we piss her off, she won't talk to us."

Chris sighs.

"Fine."

Yoko is hurriedly wiping down dirty furniture in the waiting area with an equally filthy cloth. It doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything and Jill interrupts her.

"That's okay, we don't have to sit."

Jill steps to the side as subtly as she can. She wants to see the side of her face again, but it's so dark.

"How long have you been taking care of Dorothy?"

"Umm...my whole life, I think."

That can't be. Dorothy died in her thirties.

"How old are you?"

"20."

"You've always worked here?"

Yoko scrunches up her face as though thought is somehow painful for her.

"I really can't remember. I'm sorry."

Jill feels incredibly uncomfortable. Something is very, _very_ wrong.

"How long have you known Dr. Lester?"

"Since my surgery...one of his friends did my surgery."

"If you don't mind me asking," Jill gently says, "Do you mind telling me about your surgery?"

When Yoko pulls her short, dark hair away from the side of her face and turns to the side, Jill struggles to hide her shock. The side of her face is discolored, covered in spidery, vein-like streaks of green that have begun to take over the edge of her cheek and jaw. It might be the flashlight, but the skin beneath them almost seems to glow.

Yoko pushes her ear forward to reveal a thin, vertical scar on the edge of her hairline.

"One of his colleagues did my brain surgery. Dr. Lester took care of me afterwards."

Yoko steps back and smiles.

"I'm very grateful for their help."

Alarms are sounding in her head. Jill swallows.

"Where do you live, Yoko?"

She points to the staircase behind Chris.

"Upstairs."

This woman isn't safe.

"Do you have any family?"

She shakes her head.

"Dr. Lester said they died when I was a teenager. I can't remember much since my surgery."

Her mind is rapidly cycling through all the things Dr. Lester could have done to Yoko and Jill feels nauseated for even thinking of a few of them. What motive does he have for taking this woman? Why can't she remember anything?

"Yoko," Jill lets out a shaky breath, "We came here to help. We work for the police."

Yoko's almond-shaped eyes widen.

"Did I...do something wrong?"

"No, no, not at all," Jill quickly explains, shaking her head to be as clear as she possibly can, "Dr. Lester is in trouble and we need your help."

"Is he...okay?"

"He's okay. Can you come with us?"

Yoko nods and says, "Anything to help Dr. Lester. He's such a good man."

Jill doesn't understand what the hell is going on in Raccoon City, but she's starting to wonder if the job is even worth it anymore.

* * *

"You _what_?!"

Chris swears he can see spittle fly through the air as Irons shouts. His face is flushed red and his skin is slick with a light sheen of sweat as his beady eyes dart from him to Jill and back. He drops his meaty hands against his desktop with an audible _thunk_ and sighs. Wesker stands beside him, arms crossed over his chest in his typical stance, and Chris wishes he could slap those fucking shades right off his fucking face.

"Redfield," Irons bellows, "Why are you allowing this _woman_ to make such stupid decisions?"

He gestures towards Jill. Chris feels his blood pressure rising.

"Her name is Jill Valentine," Chris petulantly says, "And she has just as much authority as I do. We have the same job title."

Irons covers his face with his hand and sighs again.

"This isn't what I hired her for."

Chris glances at Jill. Her hands are balled into fists against her thighs.

"What _did_ you hire her for?" Chris asks. "Because I'm pretty confused here, Chief. She's a member of S.T.A.R.S. Alp—"

"She's a _woman_ , Redfield. What the fuck do you think I hired her for?"

"I think you hired her as rear security for Alpha team."

Irons whines in frustration. Chris wants to give him something to _really_ fucking whine about.

"So let me get this straight," he says, "You allowed this woman to convince you to go to A—"

"No," Chris interrupts, "I convinced _her_ to go to Arklay."

" _Regardless,_ " Irons continues, "You went to Arklay after hours to conduct your own investigation and brought back some fucking psycho girl? This is not the R.P.D.'s responsibility."

Truthfully, he doesn't give a fuck about Yoko, but Jill does and he stands by his partner.

"No sir." He can't suppress the cheeky smile on his face. "My partner and I were doing some recreational hiking in our own free time and we found a woman in distress. As police, we are supposed to protect and serve the comm—"

"Shut up." Irons grunts. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"Wasn't S.T.A.R.S. founded to—"

"Cut the crap, Redfield. Do you know how much paperwork I have to do now? There is no Yoko Suzuki on record. This bitch doesn't even know her own name and now I have to fi—"

"Enough."

Wesker is looking right at him through those dumb fucking shades. He knows it.

"This is unacceptable. I am removing you from this case."

"You're making a mistake," Chris warns, "Something else is going on."

Wesker uncrosses his arms. He must have struck a nerve.

"What is it that you want, Redfield?" He coldly asks. "Are you upset because Ryman and Frost made the arrest? Do you crave attention that badly?"

What the fuck? He's not even going to entertain that fucking comment.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Chris leans back in his chair and glares at Wesker, "But I'm just trying to do my damn job. Something else is going on and Raccoon City isn't safe."

He hates the way Wesker laughs. It sounds so unnatural and forced.

"You want credit so badly that you're fabricating evidence that does not exist."

"Doesn't exist my ass!" Chris shouts. "That woman isn't evidence of some weird shit going on?"

"That woman never should have been found in the first place. You went to Arklay to fulfill your own agenda."

"I don't have a _fucking_ agenda! Are you two even listening to yourselves? Fuck!"

"I will not allow you to continue to poison the well."

What the hell does that mean?

"Poison _what_ well? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I am separating the two of you. Valentine, you will work with Burton from now on. Redfield, you will be with Vic—"

Oh hell no.

"Like fucking _hell_ I will. I'll work alone."

"I'm able to make decisions for myself."

Everyone's attention falls on Jill.

"I'm a woman, not an invalid." She defends. "Chris doesn't force me to do anything."

Irons rolls his eyes. Chris wants to wring his fat fucking neck.

"Leave, Miss Valentine." He commands with a lethargic wave of his hand towards the door.

"Chief, I—"

"Do you want to lose your job? I said to leave."

Jill rises from her chair, but hesitates at the doorway. Chris knows she's biting back a smart comment.

"Just go, Jill." He mumbles. "It's not worth it."

He hears the door click shut behind him and lets out a long breath of relief. Irons regards him with a scowl.

"Why must you always be such a pain in my ass?" He grumbles, breaking his eye contact with Chris to stare at his desktop.

Irons is a coward. Chris smirks.

"Gotta make sure you work for that money you're laundering."

Irons slams his palms against the desktop.

"What is it that I have to do?" He bellows. "Money? Do I have to pay you to keep you in line?"

Chris laughs humorlessly.

"I don't want any of your dirty money."

"Chris, you are walking a very thin line." Wesker hisses. "If I had it my way—"

"You'd fucking fire me, I know." Chris snaps. "Why don't you? Go ahead."

"No! No one is getting fired!" Irons hurriedly shouts. "Just...god dammit, Redfield. Do better."

Chris pulls himself out of his chair and steps close to the desk, towering over Irons.

"No promises, Chief." He grunts and promptly walks out the door.

* * *

Jill's face is still stinging with embarrassment when she takes reprieve on a bench in the upstairs lobby. It feels as though she's been slapped in the face and, in a way, she has. The obvious disrespect that Irons harbors for her is insulting. She wishes she had said more, but the fear of losing her job was too strong.

She's worried about Chris. The vitriol that passed around the room between the three men was painful despite not being directed towards her. She knows he's been treading on thin ice and she wonders if he'll lose his job. What would S.T.A.R.S. be like without Chris Redfield?

The conclusion surprises her. It's hard to see herself in her current role without Chris. He's become a strange fixture in her life, one that she realizes she has come to rely on to some degree. She had gotten used to him and his idiosyncrasies. Maybe, in some warped way, he had become a form of comfort in the midst of all the chaos.

How would she even define the relationship that they have? If Joseph was her colleague, Chris was certainly something more than that. She'd been able to confide in him and he trusted her. He went out of his way to support her when her apartment had been broken into. Hell, he _worried_ about her and brought her into his home. Is that something he would have done for Joseph?

What the hell were Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine?

"Excuse me."

The voice is so soft that it's almost lost beneath the volume of her thoughts. Jill thinks the woman standing in front of her looks familiar, but she can't place where she's seen her. The roundness of her face and the wide, deer-in-the-headlights look she's wearing make Jill question if she's an employee or civilian.

"Are you Jill Valentine?"

"Yeah."

The woman lets out a sigh of relief and claps her hands together excitedly.

"Oh geez, I'm so glad! I was looking _everywhere_ for you!"

Her confusion must have been evident on her face because the woman suddenly changes her demeanor. She stands straight and thrusts her arm forward, offering Jill a clumsy hand.

"I'm Rebecca."

Jill accepts her hand. The handshake is weak and limp.

"You're S.T.A.R.S., right?"

Jill glances down at the patch embroidered onto the sleeve of her pale blue shirt. Rebecca's face flushes.

"That was a stupid question." She sheepishly admits. "But, um, I'm S.T.A.R.S. too. I'm...new. I'm on Bravo team…"

"It's nice to meet you."

Rebecca grins and nods. The redness in her cheeks doesn't fade.

"I'm a medic. I specialize in biochemistry and…"

She pauses and laughs nervously.

"Well, that's all boring. You don't care about all that."

Jill can't help but smile at her awkward behavior.

"Sure I do. That's really impressive."

"T-Thanks." She stammers. "But, um, I was called in to help with the case you're working. I was evaluating Ms. Suzuki. I mean, you surely saw her face, right? Well, um, they called me to look at it and…"

She's speaking so fast that she has to stop and take a breath.

"I just wanted to ask about where you found her. Was there anything strange there? Or maybe she mentioned something to you?"

Jill pats the empty space on the bench beside her to persuade her to sit. Watching her anxiously bounce back and forth on one foot has started to distract her.

"This all sounds really crazy," Jill admits, "But Dr. Lester apparently thought mold was his wife. We found Yoko at the closed down hospital he used to run in Arklay. She was...taking care of the mold?"

Is that the right way to explain it? Jill thinks it'll all sound stupid regardless of how she phrases it.

"Yoko said she lived upstairs. I'm not sure if she ever left the facility. Her memory seems to be bad."

Rebecca's eyes widen.

"That's it!" She says. "I didn't really know what it was. It looked kind of like _Rhizomucor pusillus_ under the microscope, but it can assimilate glycine. It doesn't make sense…"

She shakes her head and starts to laugh.

"I'm sorry, I get carried away sometimes. Um, Ms. Suzuki and Dr. Lester both have the same infection and—"

"Infection?"

"Oh!" Rebecca begins to wave her hands. "No, it's not like that! You couldn't have gotten it from that. It takes really long periods of exposure and the host has to be immunocompromised and…"

She has to take another breath.

"I took samples of the spots...the one on Ms. Suzuki's face and the one growing on Dr. Lester's body."

"I didn't realize he was ill too."

"W-Well, it's the same as the one Ms. Suzuki has. It's some kind of fungal infection, but I can't identify it. It doesn't make sense. It can utilize carbon _and_ assimilate glycine? I didn't think anything like that existed…"

Jill doesn't quite understand what she's talking about.

"So Dr. Lester and Yoko are infected with the same mold from the hospital?" She tries to clarify and Rebecca nods.

"It's possible! But...I'd need to collect a sample to be sure. I need to talk to Enrico and maybe—"

Rebecca sighs.

"A new fungus. This is all so weird…" Rebecca whispers quietly.

An infectious mystery fungus, a woman without any memories, and a man who thinks mold is his wife.

"Yeah," Jill mumbles, "No kidding."

"Rebecca!"

Jill watches the blonde man approach. He's waving a gloved hand and panting a little from what Jill assumes was a rapid ascent up the staircase nearby.

"There's a…" He pauses, rests his hands on his hips and sucks in a breath, "There's a doctor looking for you."

When he makes eye contact with Jill, his face seems to light up.

"Oh! You're on Alpha, right?"

He laughs a little and gestures towards the S.T.A.R.S. emblem embroidered on his peach sleeve.

"Can't believe they're letting us out in the daytime." He smiles and offers a hand. "I'm Richard. I'm on Bravo with Rebecca."

"Jill Valentine," she says as she accepts his hand, "It's nice to meet our other half for once."

Richard grins sheepishly.

"Too bad it took a serial killer to get Irons to let us all work together, but…"

He gestures across the span of the precinct towards the east office.

"That doctor's waiting. I think his name was Dr. Birkin? He had some questions about Yoko."

Rebecca shrugs.

"Sure, lead the way."

Jill isn't sure why she feels a chill run up her spine as the two of them walk away. Maybe Joseph's superstitious nature is rubbing off on her, but this feels an awful lot like the calm before a sudden storm.

* * *

If he has to hear Vickers say one more word, he thinks he's gonna drive the pen sitting on his desk right through his eardrum.

"Every third Friday is community involvement day." He chipperly says. "Tomorrow we're going to Raccoon high school to talk to—"

"No we're not." Chris grunts. "I'm not talking to kids."

"It's for a good cause, Chris." Vickers tries his best to persuade him. "We're shaping American youth and inspiring their futures! How does that not make you feel good?"

"Sure," Chris says, "I'd love to tell them all about their heroic police chief who siphons taxpayer money into his own bank account and gives no shits abou—"

"Why are you always like this?" Vickers asks. "How can you live with so much hate in your heart?"

Chris thinks he's gonna throw up.

"Well," he replies, "Consider it the consequence of having to see your face every fucking day. I was fine before I joined S.T.A.R.S."

Not really. He's had a problem since the day his parents died, but he's not about to talk about that with Brad fucking Vickers.

"I know you don't mean that."

He sure as fuck means that and he makes sure Vickers knows it before he stomps his way out the door. All he wants is to get the hell out of that precinct and pretend life isn't absolute shit for a few hours.

Claire knows something is up with him once he gets home. He can feel her staring at him through dinner, but he keeps his mouth shut in hope that it'll inspire her to do the same. Afterwards, he doesn't argue with her when she picks some shitty slasher movie for them to watch, and he thinks maybe that's what ultimately gave him away. He always complains about that shit because he hates campy horror movies.

"What's up with you?"

She's sitting beside him on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest and eyes glued to the screen as she idly twists a tendril of auburn hair around her finger. The flashing lights from the TV illuminate her face in a way that accentuates her rounded, youthful features and he thinks about how fucking young she is, how Michelle Sanders was barely older than his baby sister and now she's rotting in the goddamn ground.

"Nothing."

It seems wrong that something so young can die. Claire's not innocent by any damn means, but she doesn't know shit about anything either. Well, not anything that _matters,_ at least.

"Something."

He sighs like it hurts.

"I'm just tired," he explains, "Stressed. Work."

"Fuckhead Irons said you all caught the big bad guy on the news."

"Of course he did."

Claire tears her attention away from the screen to look at him. Maybe he's remembering her wrong, but he thinks Claire's eyes suddenly look a lot like mom's did. He thinks mom must have looked pretty young when she died too and wonders if her corpse haunts another cop's memories like Michelle's does his.

"But you don't think so."

"I don't know what to think anymore."

She turns to face him, repositioning herself so she's cross-legged beside him.

"Well, what does Jill think?"

Why is she asking about that?

"I mean," she elaborates, "She's your partner, right?"

He can't explain why her words sting like the blade of a knife. Maybe because he hasn't told her yet.

"No." He grumbles. "Wesker separated us."

"What the hell for?"

"Because of the case. I…"

This time, the sigh really does hurt. Chris feels like he has a fifty pound weight sitting on his chest and he's ready to just call it quits and let Lester play the part of the big bad wolf. He wants some semblance of normalcy in this fucked up timeline.

"I don't think Lester killed them all. Some of it just doesn't really fit and...shit, Claire, I don't know. I have a shitty feeling about it. I don't know why I can't let it go, but something seems _off_."

"Okay," Claire says, "But what does that have to do with Jill?"

"She's the only one who believes me. She...I fucked up and got her involved with my stupid hunch and Wesker got pissed and separated us."

"Can't be that stupid. Jill seems too smart to believe the dumb shit that comes out of your mouth, so you must be onto something."

"Maybe, but…"

Fuck, why is he talking to Claire about this? Claire's just a kid. She needs to be thinking about university and boys, not serial killers and political corruption.

"I don't want to fuck her over. If anyone is gonna get fired for this, it should be me."

Claire looks surprised.

"Uh…"

She reaches forward to press her palm against his forehead as she asks, "You feeling okay? It's not like you to give a fuck about someone who isn't yourself."

He pulls away from her with a scowl on his face and she laughs.

"If she trusts you, then you should trust her too." Claire lectures him as she turns back to the television screen. "She doesn't need you to protect her."

He knows she's right and he absolutely _hates_ it when Claire's right.

* * *

The sky is a foggy mess of fading grey clouds and slivers of orange sunset that manage to paint the rippling waters of the river red. It looks like blood, Jill initially thinks, and then she mentally berates herself for being so dramatic because river water doesn't look anything like blood at all. It's not dark enough, not viscous enough, and the lazy way it flows doesn't seem sinister in even the slightest way.

"Here."

Chris lands heavily in the space beside her on the bench and passes her a paper coffee cup.

"I talked to Branagh's guys." He says, pausing to take a sip of his own drink. "They said your apartment wasn't the only one that was broken into."

"That's a relief."

She pauses to cringe at her own words.

"I mean, not for the others." She clarifies. "But it makes me feel better to know I wasn't their target."

"Me too."

Jill watches the flowers in the planter beside them gently sway with the light breeze that picks up. She doesn't really know what to say, so she fills some of the quiet by taking a slow drink of her coffee.

"Working with Vickers sucks." Chris announces, pain evident in his voice. "He's annoying as shit. Always wants to run off to Wesker for approval for everything and—"

He abruptly stops to sigh.

"I miss working with you."

She's suddenly uncomfortably aware of the beat of her own heart. Chris reaches up to scratch at the side of his neck as he stares at the river in front of them. His hair has grown a little longer than she remembers it being and there's a faint shadow of stubble that peppers his jawline.

"Me too."

The corner of his mouth curls upward in the faintest hint of a smile and he leans back against the bench.

"Barry's nice," she tells him, "He's just…"

"He's a dad." Chris says with a laugh. "He gets excited about hardware store sales and crossword puzzles."

"Yeah, no kidding."

The flow of the river is quiet but audible. She watches a sedan slowly pass over the bridge.

"How are you doing?"

At first, she isn't sure what to say. Jill wonders if Chris is sick, if he's picked up the mysterious fungal infection that plagues Dr. Lester and Yoko, because she didn't even know those words were capable of coming out of his mouth. Once the initial shock wears off, Jill finds that she still doesn't know how to answer his question. How _is_ she doing? It's not something she's thought about in a while.

"Okay," Jill eventually decides, "I guess."

The last couple of weeks passed as though she was on auto-pilot. Jill can't recall the details of the days and isn't sure she has left her apartment for anything but work. She's tired in every sense of the word and she's almost eager for a new case to come along so she can have some sort of excitement in her life again.

"How are you?" She finally asks, turning towards him.

Chris is staring out at the water with one arm draped over the arm of the bench. The orange glow of the setting sun gives his skin a warm color and he rakes his fingers through his dark hair as he seems to ponder the question.

"Annoyed," he grumbles and adds, "With life."

She didn't necessarily expect him to lie to her, but his honesty is unexpected. Jill still isn't sure what she and Chris are, but they're apparently somewhere where sharing personal feelings is acceptable. Not just colleagues. Maybe they're friends.

"I'm mad—"

Jill interrupts to teasingly ask, "What else is new?"

He smiles sheepishly.

"I'm mad at myself for getting us separated." He explains. "I'm mad about the way all of this went down."

"It's not your fault."

She means it. Chris doesn't deserve to bear the sole burden of all of this. If Lester isn't the only one responsible for the disappearances, the responsibility of failure lies with a lot of people.

Herself included.

"I'm gonna let it go," Chris sighs, "But I don't feel good about it."

Jill nods because she isn't sure what to say.

"I just can't stop thinking about Michelle."

Neither can she. She thinks about her often; thinks about the way bone looks when it's exposed to the air and how much skin changes when it's left in the water for too long.

"She...really wasn't much older than Claire."

Even though she wants to, Jill can't find the right words. She doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't know how to help either of them.

"Well," she clears her throat to alleviate the way her voice cracks, "Michelle didn't have a cop for an older brother."

Chris laughs in a way that seems forced. Jill's pretty sure it is.

"Things can be normal again." Jill lies to both of them. "It's just gonna...take time."

He nods, but the look on Chris's face suggests that he isn't convinced. She doesn't expect him to be.

"When Bravo gets back from their mission," he hesitates and swallows, "Maybe Wesker will let me take some time off."

She didn't realize Bravo had been deployed.

"That sounds like a good idea."

Chris sets his cup down on the bench between them. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs as he looks down at the pavement beneath his feet. Jill watches the fabric of the white shirt that he's wearing strain across his back.

"Claire and I used to go out to this lake every summer," he starts to explain, "Just the two of us. We haven't gone yet this year."

"You should go."

Suddenly, he's looking at her. Jill's breath hitches in her throat when his eyes meet hers, warm and dark and compelling in a strange way that she can't describe.

"You should come with us."

She hears her heart pounding in her ears.

"I mean," he quickly says, "If you want. I just thought it'd be nice. Claire likes you and I know you could use a break and—"

"Sure."

He smiles so wide that it seems to light up his entire face. Maybe it's because she's so used to him scowling all the time, but Jill never realized just how handsome Chris Redfield was until now.

"Really? Cool."

Chris looks away, back at the pavement, but his smile persists.

"Claire will be excited."

He stops, nervously rubs the back of his neck, and says, "I mean...I'm glad too. I didn't expect you to say yes. It'll be good, I think."

Chris is looking at her again and she doesn't think she's ever been so anxious in her entire life.

"For both of us."

"I think so too." She admits. "It'll be nice."

The lamppost nearby comes to life, illuminating everything around them with an artificial yellow glow.

"Shit, it's probably late."

He stands and offers her a hand. She takes it without thinking and he helps her to her feet.

"I'll walk you home?"

Is he asking for permission? Who _is_ this man?

"Thanks."

The walk back to her apartment is short, but it feels like forever. Chris walks a comfortable stride beside her and she can't help but occasionally steal glances at him along the way. He seems calm, as though inviting her on a vacation and walking her home is a typical and expected occurrence in his life, and she doesn't understand how things came to be this way. Colleagues don't walk each other home and vacation together, do they?

They're friends, she decides. Probably friends.

But then Chris is standing outside her apartment and he suddenly doesn't seem like a friend anymore. She feels something when he flashes her that bright, boyish smile from before and she wonders if he was always as handsome as he looks under those street lights right now. Chris just stands there, eyes soft and warm, and she wants to know what's running through his head.

"It's all over for now," Chris says, "Try to get some sleep."

It sounds like he means it. Why does he mean it?

"Thanks," she manages to reply, "You too."

He's still just standing there. What is he waiting for?

"I'll, uh...see you tomorrow." He nods towards the apartment building and shoves his hands in his pockets.

Is he waiting for her to leave?

"Yeah," she says, "I'll see you tomorrow too?"

He nods. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do. He laughs.

"Go." He tells her with that crooked smile that makes her nervous. "It's late."

"You go." She counters, nearly choking on her heart that feels like it's in her throat.

Chris shrugs and says, "Ladies first."

She thinks she's gonna die if she stands there for much longer, so she leaves. Jill waves goodbye and tries not to sprint inside because she swears she feels him watching her when she turns away. Her face feels numb and her legs seem shaky even as she's safe inside the elevator cab and she's sure Chris is already on his way home.

Is this how friends feel about each other? It's a question she asks herself again and again that night, even after she's tangled up in her bed sheets while she tosses and turns on her mattress.

Maybe this is how Chris treats all his friends.

She glances over at the clock. Friends don't keep each other up at one in the morning, do they?

Jill huffs and turns onto her side. She can't sleep because of Chris fucking Redfield and she doesn't understand why. Friends don't think about friends when they're trying to sleep.

She flips onto her back and stares at the ceiling.

Friends can walk each other home and vacation together. She finds comfort in that. Chris and Jill aren't colleagues, but they're just friends.

The phone rings and she wonders if it's Chris. Friends call each other in the middle of the night sometimes, right?

"Hello?"

"Sorry for waking you," Wesker deadpans into the phone, "Report to the office immediately."

Jill squints in the darkness to make out the fine numbers on the clock.

"Is everything okay?" She asks. "It's one in the morning."

"Do you really think I would be calling you in the middle of the night if everything was 'okay,' Miss Valentine?"

She winces.

"Okay," she says, "I'll be right there."

She wonders if Chris will be there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kind comments, views, and support. It's because of all of you wonderful readers and the Valenfeels that I'm able to keep functioning in these weird times. I appreciate you all.


	5. No Return

Despite how many times she has been to Arklay Forest, Jill still hasn't managed to get used to the unsettling silence that permeates the area. The crack of twigs beneath their feet seems deafening in the complete quiet. She can hear everything—the gentle rustle of their clothing as they move, the sound of the soles of their boots scuffing the ground, Joseph nervously scratching at the back of his neck—and it makes her feel a little overwhelmed. Jill struggles to focus on anything in particular with the loudness of everything around them and it seems like a major disadvantage. Her lack of sleep has already hindered her alertness.

Wesker hadn't been particularly forthcoming with the details of their mission. Bravo team had apparently been deployed to Arklay for reasons he wouldn't reveal and contact with them had been lost roughly eleven hours prior. Wesker had been adamant about not telling them the reason for their deployment, but Jill couldn't help but wonder if it was somehow related to the Lester case. If it had been, why hadn't _they_ been sent to investigate? Was it because of her and Chris?

Jill sighs. Somehow, this distantly feels as though it's her fault. She tells herself that communications were interrupted because of the poor reception in the mountainous terrain, but she doesn't really believe it. Jill doesn't know what to expect, but she hopes that this will, in fact, be a search and _rescue_ mission as intended.

"I think I see something." Chris announces as he flits the beam of his flashlight against the cluster of trees to the east.

From the rear, Jill isn't able to make out anything. There's a faint glint of something in the distance—something metallic maybe—but there's nothing distinct. Chris pulls away from the group to move closer to the object and the rest of them follow. Jill doesn't miss the fact that Joseph hesitates to fall into step beside her.

"I hate this." Joseph whispers. "I hate Arklay."

Jill smiles weakly in return. She hates Arklay too.

Chris had been right when he thought he might have seen something through the thicket of trees. It's a helicopter— _Bravo's_ helicopter—and the sight of its mangled frame fills her with a sense of dread. If she had doubted that this would be a search and rescue mission before, she was now certain that it wouldn't be.

"Hooooooly _shit_ ," Kevin gasps, "Not Dooley."

Jill smells the body before she's able to see it. It's that familiar rot, one that's foul and laced with the sickly sweet scent of decay, and it makes her think of Michelle Sanders. She can almost hear the run of water and see the flicker of flashing blue lights as she steps closer to the chopper and she feels bile rise in her throat when she peers into it.

Michelle had been horribly mutilated, but this was _different_. Jill didn't know Kevin Dooley personally, but she was certain that no one deserved to die the way he apparently had. Stiff as a board in his seat, Dooley's mouth is frozen open in an expression of fear, but that's not what really gets her.

What gets her is the fact that his eyes have been gouged out of his face. The seemingly bottomless, empty eye sockets that rest in his head make her skin crawl and the large, jagged wounds that cover his face and body seem like evidence of claws. She's heard about this, how wild animals will go for the soft tissues of a corpse first, but she's never really thought about it before. Were his eyes cleaned out of his skull post-mortem?

The dried blood that cascades down his face suggests not.

"What could _do_ this?!" Brad gasps, audibly gagging as he steps away from the scene. He doubles over and retches into the grass nearby.

Joseph blinks hard, jaw clenched tight as he turns around. The pained expression on his face makes her wonder if he's holding back tears.

"Something isn't right." Kevin quietly says. "This is unnatural."

"We need to locate the rest of Bravo." Wesker announces, seemingly unaffected, but Jill supposes that's his job as Captain.

"What if…" Joseph hesitates as he peers into the dark forest ahead. "What if they're all dead too?"

"Then we find them." Wesker simply says.

The tension between them is heavy. There's hesitation to advance and Jill assumes it's due to a combination of both fear and mourning. As she looks over at Joseph, she pictures him in a similar state, skin torn open from sharp claws and blood trickling down his face. It makes her feel ill and she looks away, down at the dirt and the beetle crawling across the toe of her boot. She can't look at them right now because she doesn't even want to entertain the idea that they, too, could end up dead in this god forsaken forest.

The weight of the hand against her shoulder seems familiar. Chris is standing beside her, regarding her with a gentle smile.

"Hey," he mutters, voice deep and low, "Are you alright?"

She doesn't know the answer to that. Jill has no reason to be bent out of shape about the death of a man she never knew, but her history with Arklay makes this all seem strangely personal.

"Yeah." She breathes out, returning his smile with one that she hopes doesn't seem disingenuous. "Are you?"

He shrugs.

"Fuck Arklay."

 _Yeah,_ she thinks, _fuck Arklay._

Being near him makes this all a little more manageable. Jill wants to stay by his side, but she can't. Chris is their pointman and she's rear security. Her job is to provide defense from the back and now isn't the time to let them all down for her own selfish desire. She has a bad feeling resting in the pit of her gut, one that suggests that perhaps Bravo didn't pull through on this mysterious mission.

A long howl echoes from the distance. She's grateful for the sign of life.

"Do coyotes howl?" Joseph frantically asks. "Or, uh, do you think it might be…"

He turns around quickly and peers up at the half-moon.

"Oh, thank god." He says, sighing with relief. "No full moon."

Despite the tension and tragedy, Joseph manages to make her smile. She never thought she'd come to _appreciate_ his antics, but in this moment, she absolutely does.

"The mission." Wesker deadpans. "Get it together, Frost."

It's uncannily chilly for late July. A thin shroud of fog rolls through the forest, lazily hovering low to the ground and between the trees. The eerie, seemingly horror film-inspired imagery is fitting for Arklay after all of her experiences with it. She wonders how it hasn't received a reputation amongst the natives, how no one regards it as haunted or cursed given the frequency of strange things that have happened there. Maybe she's just biased.

She doesn't know how far they've wandered into the forest. Jill's senses have been in an overwhelming state of overdrive and it's hard to focus on any single detail. She's too preoccupied with finding Bravo and ensuring their own safety to pay enough attention to commit the vegetation around them to memory. It's all a blur at this point, just shades of green, thick fog, and the glow of their flashlights darting about.

A loud snap of a branch reverberates through the area and the group comes to a halt. It seemed close— _too_ close—but the silence that follows makes her doubt herself. Had she heard it? It appeared that the others had too.

"What wa—"

Before Joseph can finish his sentence, a shadowy figure leaps from the thicket of overgrown brush nearby. Jill can't really process what's happening on account of the speed with which it goes down. Joseph's on the ground, a blood-curdling scream tears from his throat, and Chris is suddenly firing in their direction. The four-legged creature pinning Joseph to the ground falls over and Chris moves, blocking her view as he leans over to offer Joseph a hand and hoists him upright.

Joseph winces and clutches at his left shoulder. His skin seems extraordinarily pale due to the dark blood that trickles between his fingers and down the length of his forearm. He groans as he pulls his hand away, looking down at his blood-saturated palm, and Jill catches a glimpse of his mangled shoulder.

She glances down at the creature and grows even more confused. It's not a coyote, but instead appears to be some type of dog. She assumes it's a Doberman based on its pointed ears and lean body, but it's hard to tell because of how disfigured it is. Rough patches of fur and skin are missing all along its body, leaving the bright red viscera beneath exposed, and a portion of its yellowed ribs are made visible from the damage. It's lying on its side, legs retracted and curled back towards its body, and its eye is solid white, left open and unseeing in death.

Jill has no experience with animals and she certainly isn't a veterinarian, but she doesn't think mange looks like _that._

"What the fuck...what the _fu_ —"

Joseph's words are once again drowned out by several barks and howls. Jill's heart starts to pound rapidly and she instinctively reaches for the gun at her hip, looking over to Wesker for some type of direction, but the beasts are too quick for any type of preparation. Several charge from out of the brush nearby and guns are firing. She's too slow to the draw—Chris and Wesker are _fast_ —and she doesn't have time to count the carcasses around them before more snarling draws closer.

"Move!" Wesker commands. " _Move!_ "

Jill can't keep track of what's happening. She breaks into a sprint, following Wesker and faintly aware of Barry in her periphery based on the red blur of his vest. Jill can hear the creatures in pursuit of them, their paws strongly striking the ground as their growls grow increasingly louder in volume, and her breath hitches in her burning throat. They're fast, _so_ fast, and she hears more gunshots.

"Keep going!"

It's Chris shouting from behind her and she clenches her eyes closed in desperation as she continues to run. Kevin cusses loudly and she hears one of the creatures yelp as another shot sounds. Her thighs feel tight and there's a stitch in her side, but they're coming up on a clearing and she thinks she sees a building in the distance and—

"Head for that mansion!" Wesker barks.

Jill doesn't have time to wonder why the hell there's a mansion sitting in the middle of Arklay. She's kicking up gravel as she charges towards the structure. It's intimidatingly large, adorned with intricate architectural designs and towering windows, but she doesn't pay it too much attention on account of the fucking _hellhounds_ that are hot on her trail.

She nearly trips up the steps and reaches for the handle of the heavy wooden door, yanking on it with all her strength. It doesn't budge and just rattles on its hinges and she thinks oh _fuck,_ what are they going to—

"Jill!" Wesker snaps and tosses something in her direction as he spins around, handgun drawn.

She catches the case and glances down at it in confusion. Jill realizes it's a lockpicking set and thinks it's odd that Wesker has a pick on him. She's never mentioned her talent for lockpicking, but she supposes her _boss_ would know this about her because of her resume and—

"Jill, hurry!"

One, two, three gunshots. Jill drops to her knees and hastily zips open the case, fumbling for the tools she needs. She takes a chance on the assumption that it's a pin cylinder like most locks, but it would be just her luck if it _isn't._ Her hands are sweaty as she pushes the hook pick into the lock and the tension wrench slips in her grip.

Another shot, more barks.

" _Jill._ "

The last pin gives and she sighs in relief as she finishes up, tugging the tools out of the lock as she shoves the door open. She stumbles inside, the soles of her boots squeaking against the lacquered floor, and she pivots around on her heel in time to watch Wesker slam the door shut and let out a sigh of relief.

Her stomach feels like it drops.

"Wesker?" Her voice is trembling as she steps forward, watching the door with iron vigilance, almost daring it to move. "Where are the others?"

She can't read his expression because of his dark shades, but he seems as stoic as ever.

"It seems we were separated in the chaos."

His voice is disturbingly cool.

"We can't just _leave_ them out there!" She says, reaching for the handle of the door with her opposite hand poised at the gun on her hip.

Wesker directs her hand away, pushing back against it with firm pressure as he positions himself between her in the door. She feels a flash of anger, but Wesker shakes his head and calmly speaks.

"It's too dangerous to go back out there, Jill." He coolly reasons. "The others are capable. We will find them later."

She opens her mouth to speak, but the words don't come. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, she _knows_ he's right. They're all highly trained and armed, but so was Bravo, weren't they?

"But…"

"Jill."

He rests a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. The attempt at comfort stuns her, but it doesn't bring her any solace. His hand is cold and heavy. If it was Chris, then maybe...

"You can't help them if you're dead."

Jill can't tell if it's the implication that she'd die or the monotone delivery of the statement that stings. She's at odds with herself because she knows he's right. There's no telling how many of those beasts are out there and she's not confident enough in her abilities to take them on. She'd probably die because Wesker clearly wouldn't be interested in going with her and…

She wishes Chris was here.

"Alright." Jill manages to say around the lump that's formed in her throat. She swallows thickly and nods her head, eyes still fixed on the door they entered through. "Okay."

Saying it twice doesn't convince her in the way she hoped it would. She closes her eyes and tries to get a hold of herself. Chris is the best shot on the team, so of _course_ he'd be okay. Kevin is pretty good too and he's probably with Chris. They wouldn't leave Joseph behind, so he's alright too. Barry would look out for Joseph, so he must be with them. Brad, well...maybe Brad's alright, but...he probably followed them, right?

Yeah. That's exactly right.

Jill nods to herself and opens her eyes.

"We need to investigate this mansion." Wesker tells her. "Bravo could be here."

She doesn't want to think about it, so she just agrees. Jill wipes the perspiration off her forehead with the back of her gloved hand as she takes in their surroundings. They're standing in what appears to be a foyer with an open second level above them, but nothing about it feels quite right. It's disturbingly quiet, but the red carpet that travels up the staircase in front of her is immaculately clean, not unlike the perfectly polished tile she's standing on. She surveys the various candelabras positioned around the room, adorned with tall candles that appear to have been freshly lit, and she glances up at the elegant chandelier above them.

Someone has been here recently.

"I don't think we're alone." Jill softly says as she glances at the various doors around the room. There seems to be a hallway behind the staircase and there's no telling how many doors are on the second floor.

A muffled gunshot pierces the silence. Jill immediately turns to the set of double doors to her left.

"I believe you are correct."

Wesker nods towards the door.

"Go check it out. I'll secure this area."

"Shouldn't we go together?" She asks. "It might not be one of us."

Wesker has begun to ascend the staircase. He pauses, hand resting on the bannister, and looks back at her.

"Someone needs to be here in case the others show up in order to regroup."

She can't really argue with that one.

"Alright." She surrenders. "I'll be right back."

As she approaches the doors, a strange sense of dread washes over her. Jill doesn't know what's waiting for her on the opposite side, but she somehow knows it's not something that she wants to see.

* * *

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

The string of expletives is followed by nervous laughter. It sounds like Joseph chokes on his own saliva before he asks, "We're gonna die, aren't we?"

Chris grits his teeth as he fires his final shot. The hellhound falls to the ground in the midst of its leap with an audible thud and Chris fumbles for the last magazine he has.

"We will if you don't fucking _get it together_ , Frost." Chris hisses as he reloads his handgun, glancing back at Joseph with a pointed look.

He can hear labored panting in the distance, a promise that _more_ of the fuckers are on their way. He's lost count of how many of the fucking things he's killed, but he knows he only has fifteen shots left and it's probably not enough. Chris lets out a shaky breath and turns back to the path ahead, briskly jogging to catch up with Joseph.

Joseph's still clutching his shoulder and grimacing from the pain. Chris hasn't had a chance to take a look at the wound, but he's seen enough glimpses of razor-sharp fangs to assume it hurts like a bitch. He's getting fucking _tired_ from all this running and doesn't want to think about how this is all gonna turn out if they don't get the fuck out of there soon.

"If they get me," Joseph pants, "If they get me...just keep running."

He's not even going to entertain that idea. These hellhounds are more than enough for him to deal with right now.

"You're more dramatic than my fucking teenage sister." Chris quips. "Shut up and keep going."

He whips his head back and forth as they run through the forest, looking for anywhere at _all_ to take shelter. Surely they'll find a big rock or something, maybe Lester's creepy ass murder cabin or that fucking hospital or... _fuck,_ why is this forest so big?

The beams from their flashlights are erratically bouncing around as they sprint. In his head, Chris assumes they'll stumble upon a building at some point, so he nearly misses the fence sitting in the distance. He catches a brief view of it in the glow of Joseph's light and he comes to an abrupt halt, wrenching his flashlight from his vest to direct it in the area where he thought he saw it.

"Frost!" He calls out in a hoarse whisper. "Over there!"

Joseph stumbles as he comes to a stop. Chris pushes through the trees to approach the wrought iron fence as he says, "We have to jump it."

"I can't jump that!" Joseph exclaims, lifting his injured shoulder and wincing as he does.

Chris drops down on one knee and laces his fingers together.

"Come on. I'm gonna help you over."

"Are you crazy?"

"Are _you_?"

A howl comes from somewhere in the forest.

"Fine," Joseph relents, "Don't drop me."

He steps into Chris's hand and Chris grunts as he rises to a standing position. Chris feels Joseph's other boot digging into his shoulder and he grimaces.

"Can you hurry the fuck up?"

"I'm trying!"

The treads of Joseph's boot scrape against the side of his neck. Chris finds himself getting impatient and he pushes up against the sole of Joseph's boot with his palm, forcing him higher up. Joseph shouts in surprise and topples over the fence, landing on the dirt with an audible _thud._

Chris almost apologizes once he's on the other side; instead, he offers Joseph a hand and hoists him to his feet.

"Fuck...Arklay…" Joseph manages to grit out between ragged breaths. "And...fuck these...dogs…"

He grimaces and asks, "You don't think they have rabies, do you?"

"What the fuck do I look like, Frost? A fuckin' vet?"

Chris feels bad about that one. Sighing, he swats at Joseph's hand, forcing it away from the wound. He doesn't need a veterinary license to know it looks bad because the wound is so deep that he can see some meaty shit that he's pretty sure is never supposed to be seen. Maybe the strong artificial glow of the flashlight makes it look worse than it really is.

"Well, you're not frothing at the mouth yet, so I think you're good."

" _Yet_?!"

Suddenly, Chris is aware of the sound of barking. It grows in volume and he hears the brush nearby begin to rustle. Instinctively, he moves to stand in front of Joseph and focuses his attention on the fence. He doesn't have many shots left.

The pack of hounds emerges from the vegetation like a fleet of shadows, rapidly charging towards the fence in a frenzied formation. To his surprise, they halt near the fence and begin to snarl. Fast as _fuck_ despite looking like death, but it seems they still can't climb a damn fence. Chris isn't keen on sticking around to discover whether or not they truly can.

"Fuck this."

He sets off towards the trees nearby with Joseph in tow. They weave between trees, more damn trees, and another fucking cluster of trees until he can make out a faint light in the distance.

"There's something up ahead." He says, pointing towards the hill in the distance.

"I hope it's a fucking hospital." Joseph whines. "Tell me it's a hospital."

It looks more like a cabin, but Joseph can use his own damn eyes and figure that out himself. Chris approaches it slowly, taking in the rotten siding and the cracked window that's so filthy he can't even see through it. The place looks abandoned, but the porch light is on and he can hear the quiet tinkling sound of moths colliding against the lightbulb. It's unsettling.

"I don't know about this. I have a bad feeling."

"Me too, but I'd rather get murdered by some psychopath in a cabin than torn apart by _hellhounds_." Joseph hisses.

He has a point.

The steps leading up to the door groan beneath his weight. He knocks loudly and waits.

Nothing.

"Just go _in._ " Joseph anxiously suggests. "I don't want to get eaten out here."

Chris gives it one last shot, but he raps so hard at the door that it falls open.

"Oh _god,_ " Joseph whines, "This is like...the Texas Chainsaw Massacre or something. We're going to get murdered. This is the beginning of a horror movie. I _know_ it."

" _Stop._ "

He's losing his patience. Chris is just as confused and anxious as Frost is, but they need to keep it together, to think rationally and get the hell out of Arklay. Chris looks at Joseph from over his shoulder and cringes at the sight of all the blood. He wishes Jill was here. She would know what to do.

Where the hell _is_ Jill anyway? Where the hell is anyone?

Chris gropes his waist for his radio and finds nothing but air. He feels a sense of panic as he looks down and realizes it's missing. Of course he lost it in the fucking marathon sprint through the forest.

"Hey Frost, you got your radio?"

Joseph nods to his right. Chris tugs the radio off his belt and attempts to turn it on with no success. When he flips it over, he realizes the plastic casing is shattered.

"It's fucking busted." Chris angrily announces. "Of- _fucking_ -course."

He shoves the ajar door open so hard that it slams against the interior wall of the cabin. Clouds of dust form in the air with each step he takes through the entryway and he wrinkles his nose at the massive cobwebs that are strewn about the place. A flickering light is cast onto the floor from the next room and, when he enters it, he finds a fire raging within the fireplace.

Chris motions behind him, holding up a hand to compel Joseph to stop. He rounds the corner quickly, handgun ready despite his mere fifteen shots, and progresses through the rest of the cabin.

"It's clear."

It's evident that the cabin has seen recent use—the lit fire, the unkempt bed nearby, and the illuminated lantern around the corner—but the degree of filth suggests otherwise. Thick layers of grime and dust coat the floorboards and the ripe, pungent scent of rot permeates the area. Chris suspects it's coming from the strips of cloth suspended nearby, strewn up as if to dry. The rust-colored stains that saturate the fabric are suspiciously reminiscent of blood. He wonders if this is one of Lester's hideouts too.

"This is weird as fuck." Joseph observes aloud as he meanders around the cabin before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and sighing at the sight of his own blood-covered palm.

Chris stares into the crackling fire, overwhelmed by the sheer incredulousness of the situation. He has no idea where the hell he is. Frost is essentially dead weight and there's no telling if the rest of Alpha is alive. Are they simply lost while the rest of the team searches for them?

A loud rumble of thunder echoes in from the distance, followed by a crack of lightning that briefly illuminates the dirty cabin in a flash of bright light. Romping around in the rain is perhaps the best way to make this experience even more miserable. They need to hurry.

"Stay here. I'm going to see if I can find someone."

Joseph's expression contorts into one of both pain and confusion, but he eventually nods. Although he's stated his intentions as though he's sure, Chris doesn't know if separating is a good idea. Frost is defenseless and Chris conjectures that practically _anything_ could be roaming around Arklay at this point.

Irritated, Chris pulls his handgun from its holster and tosses it onto the bed beside Joseph.

"What?"

Chris crosses his arms over his chest. Isn't it obvious?

"In case something shows up before I get back."

Joseph's eyes widen and he asks, "Like what? And what about you?"

Chris gestures towards the knife strapped to his chest.

"That's it?"

"Just take the damn gun and don't fucking die."

He doesn't feel like arguing with him any further. Chris leaves, sighing in frustration as he slams the door shut behind him. He pauses, breathing in so deeply that the chilly air burns the lining of his nose and throat, and lets it out in another long sigh. Fuck Arklay, fuck S.T.A.R.S., fuck Irons, and fuck Wesker. Once he gets out of this mess, he's fucking quitting.

The pathway leading to who-the-fuck-knows-where is unkempt, ground unlevel and littered with various stones and overgrown moss. The further he travels away from the cabin, the more consuming the darkness around him becomes, and he rests a hand against the knife sheath that's strapped to the front of his vest. He follows the short picket fence that extends from behind the cabin because it's the only discernible landmark he can find.

When he spots the iron gate in the distance, he tries not to feel too much relief. Chris doesn't expect anything to work in their favor tonight. Hell, he's not even sure they'll make it out alive.

The gate hangs crookedly on its hinges, offering little security for what it contains. It makes a shrill sound as he pushes it open, one that makes him curse under his breath, and he shimmies through the small entryway he's created. Chris hesitates, expecting hungry snarls and vicious barking in response to the sound, but can only make out the sharp crow of a bird in the vicinity. As long as it's not a fucking hellhound, he thinks he can handle it.

It's pitch black beneath the inky, starless sky. Chris was never the type to fear the dark, but his skin is crawling at the thought of what may be lurking beyond the shadows that surround him. He attempts to study as much of the area as he can with his flashlight that suddenly seems far more dim than it was before.

To his left, a fleet of tombstones greet him. They're in a state of disarray, the graves obscured by tall blades of wild grass. In the distance, two headstones stand out from the rest, towering above the others and sectioned off by a rotten, lopsided wooden fence. He pays it no mind, only giving it a single thought—of _course_ there's a goddamn graveyard in Arklay—and passes through the gate on the opposite side of the cemetery.

Damp mud squelches beneath his feet and he feels his boots sink into it. Chris clicks his tongue in annoyance and trudges a few steps forward. Through the trees, warm yellow light glows from the distance. He squints, stepping forward, and realizes there's a whole fucking _building_ ahead. With the burst of adrenaline that hits him, he sprints up the wet, slippery path while trying to will himself to expect the worst.

A dilapidated shed stands at the top of the pathway, wooden exterior greying beneath the peeling white paint. A strip of light sits below the rotten door and he allows himself to feel a _little_ relief knowing that he'll at least be able to see his surroundings.

Chris doesn't know what he expected to find in that shed, but it's as nondescript as can be. It reeks of mold and pesticides that he supposes comes from some of the copious junk that lines the perimeter of the room. The metal door across the room is bound to lead to the mansion he saw before and he pushes it with such force that he's surprised when it doesn't move.

It's locked. Of course it's locked.

He gives it another shove, but it's decidedly steady within its frame. Chris takes a step back and lunges forward, ramming the door hard with his shoulder, and grunts in pain upon impact. There's no way he's getting through this fucking thing. _Fuck._

Chris turns around and notes a set of wooden doors on the other side of the shed. They'd lead away from the mansion, but he doesn't have much of a choice. As he walks toward the door, a gunshot sounds from far away.

He stops. Did he really hear that?

Several shots are fired and he no longer has any doubt. Chris breaks into a full sprint, tearing through the door and slipping down the wet path back towards the graveyard because he _knows_ the sound of his own fucking handgun.

Something found Frost.

* * *

The dust that floats through the air tickles the lining of her nose. Jill tries to hold in a sneeze as she steps into what appears to be a dining hall. Despite the dust particles that are visible in the air, the long table is wiped clean and adorned with freshly lit candles and perfectly placed silverware. She looks up, taking in the high ceiling and open loft above her, and glances over at the grandfather clock that sits against the wall. The ticking is so loud that she hardly notices the crackling from the fireplace nearby.

Thunder cracks in the distance, followed by a strike of lightning that briefly envelops the room with light. The sudden noise makes her jump and she squeezes her eyes shut. She needs to get a fucking _grip._

Lit candles, dusted furniture, and what appears to be a freshly kindled fire on the opposite side of the room. It doesn't make sense. Jill approaches the fireplace cautiously. As she passes the table, she notices a glint of light reflecting back at her from the floor and peers down at her feet.

Jill doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but the dark pool of liquid that sits in front of the fireplace looks a hell of a lot like blood. She kneels down, squinting at it in the flickering light, and she decides that it absolutely _is_ blood.

As she rises to her feet, she follows a smear of blood to the single door nearby. She tries to convince herself that the blood belongs to one of those hellhounds outside, that she's going to find Richard or Forest or _anyone_ on the other side of that door.

The metal door handle feels cold and ominously heavy as she presses down on it. She pulls the door gently, slowly revealing the wall that stands adjacent to her, and she realizes she's in a hallway. Jill looks to the right and to the left. A sconce on the wall is suspiciously lit. There's no one in sight and yet... _what_ is that sound?

It's a horrible noise, one that makes her wrinkle her nose in disgust. It's a wet, sloppy, squelching sound that reminds her of the way Joseph chews with his mouth open when he decides he's too hungry for basic table manners, but she highly doubts he's sitting around the bend of the hallway and scarfing down a sandwich.

Jill takes a brief second to steel herself. She tightens her hold on the grip of her Beretta and takes a step forward. The carpet crunches beneath her feet and she already knows it's because it's saturated with dried blood before she even looks at it. She sucks in a breath, turns the corner, and lifts her handgun in preparation to confront whatever is waiting, but there's not enough time in the world to prepare her for _this._

This section of the hallway is dark, lit only by the moonlight that filters in through the nearby window and her dull flashlight. It's enough to reveal the broad back of a man who's kneeling before her, hunched over something on the ground nearby. That sound—that _disgusting_ sound—is deafening now as she approaches. Jill turns her flashlight in the direction of the noise, traces the room and sees _legs_ behind the man's figure, like someone's lying on the floor and—

" _Stop_!" She shouts, taking a step back as she quickly rearranges herself to hold her handgun and flashlight in each hand. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

The sound suddenly stops and she can hear the wild racing of her heart. Jill steps back again as the man slowly and clumsily rises to his feet. His back is to her as he starts to turn and she gets a glimpse of the profile of his face. He isn't right—nothing about this fucking place is right. His face is unhealthily pale and she swears she sees blood smeared around his mouth as he lets out a groan and suddenly lunges for her.

She panics, shoots him three times before he drops onto the floor in a crumpled heap. Her heart is pumping hard in her chest and she tightens her grip on her gun as she shines the light in his direction and then towards where he came from.

The sight is enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. She doesn't know who the man is, but the familiar emblem embroidered on his sleeve is enough for her to know he's— _was_ —part of Bravo team. The dark-skinned man is stiff, eyes open wide in what appears to have been fear, and his throat is ripped wide open, letting blood and gore spill out onto the carpet.

Jill quickly looks away and does the only thing that seems rational. She gets the _fuck_ out, scurrying back through the door and sprinting through the dining hall so fast that she slips on the tiled floor. She catches herself on the edge of the nearby table and bursts through the double doors, back into the lobby as she cries out, "Wesker! I don't know wha—"

She stops, arms still stretched wide from slamming open the doors. For as far as she can see, the lobby is disturbingly empty.

"Wesker?"

Her voice is soft with fear. She swallows hard and walks into the lobby, looking up at the walkways above. There's no one, _nothing_ , and she briskly moves through the area just to be sure.

Jill sits at the base of the stairs, elbows resting on her knees and head held in her hands. She doesn't understand what's happening. Even the most logical part of her fails to string together an even slightly plausible explanation. Bravo team went missing, Irons deployed Alpha team, they went to Arklay and now…

She quickly looks up and stares at the doors in front of her. Chris could still be out there. Chris, Kevin, Joseph, Brad, and Barry...they could _all_ be out there. How did they all get separated?

The image of the pilot flashes through her mind. What if they had all been mauled too?

There's no time for this.

Jill approaches the door and presses her ear against the solid wood. She doesn't hear anything on the other side. Those hellhounds must be long gone by now; at least, she _hopes_ they are. She ignores the trembling of her hand as she draws her handgun again and slowly pushes open the door.

The door is suddenly forced back against her. It collides against her shoulder and she winces, steeling herself to try to keep from being pushed back. She hears that familiar snarling and quickly snatches the door closed as one of the hounds forces itself in. It yelps as she slams the door on its torso and squeezes through the opening as she finally manages to pull the door shut.

Jill Valentine isn't usually the type to panic, but it's hard to _not_ when there's an animated dog corpse charging at you. Its claws click against the tile as it circles around and begins to charge at her, taking a leap into the air. Jill fires her weapon, knocking it out of its jump, and it wastes no time in collecting itself off the floor. She shoots again, forcing it back down to the ground. It lays still for a moment and she approaches it, gun still ready.

It lifts its head slightly and she fires at it twice, apprehensively waiting for any sort of response. Blood slowly pools beneath the beast and it remains limp on the ground. She steps back and takes in a long, deep breath as she looks up at the ceiling. What the _hell_ is she supposed to do?

She studies the room again, overwhelmed by the sheer number of routes she could possibly take. As she looks to the doors on the right, she's reminded of that creature outside the dining area, and a shiver runs down her spine. Perhaps upstairs would be best.

Jill is more attentive of her surroundings once the initial shock wears off. She ascends the central staircase as she studies the tall painting at the landing. At first glance, it's nothing particularly interesting; just an oil painting featuring three figures standing around a tombstone. As she draws closer, she notices an indentation that runs through the image, one that's suspiciously sized similarly to a doorway.

She feels like an idiot as she pushes against the wall, but it gives way and she can hear the sound of cicadas chirping in the distance. Jill steps through and finds herself standing at the top of a set of stairs overlooking a...graveyard?

Jill hesitantly takes the stairs, stepping down to the mushy, saturated earth. The graveyard has been neglected for a while, filled with moss-covered stones that once formed pathways and half-sunken headstones arranged in no discernible fashion. As she approaches them, she realizes that most of them are unmarked, and a chill runs down her spine. Who buries bodies in unmarked graves behind their own home?

There's a small, squared off patch of land in the corner of the area that's sectioned off by an iron fence. She tries the gate and it groans in protest as she attempts to force it open. It must be locked from the other side, but it clearly leads back into the mansion and she doesn't stress too much about it.

What she _does_ stress about is the gunshot that's so loud it makes her ears hurt. To the right, there's another fence partitioning off a grave, but she sees a faint flickering light beneath it and realizes there's a staircase leading downwards. She hurries down it, the flames of the lit candles lining the passage dancing wildly in her wake, and she comes to a barred off entryway.

"Barry!"

The older man is standing with his back towards the wall, his massive magnum aimed in the direction of something she can't see. Jill twists in the small hallway to try to get a visual of it, but all she can hear is a guttural, breathy groan that makes her stomach twist into a knot. It reminds her of that man from before, the one that may have _eaten_ someone, but it somehow sounds worse.

"Jill! Get out of here!" Barry shouts, firing another shot. "I'll take care of this."

"No!" She shouts, gripping the metal bars so tightly that her hands shake. "I can't leave you here!"

"Jill, I'm serious!"

He fumbles with a pocket on his vest and tosses something in her direction. It slides between the bars and lands somewhere behind her.

"Take that and _go_!"

She turns around, kneeling to sweep the object up off the floor. It's heavy and cold in her hand, marked with an insignia she doesn't recognize. What is she supposed to do with this?

"What is this?"

Barry jogs to the opposite corner of the room and fires again.

"I don't know, but it seems important! This _thing_ was guarding it."

The _thing_ growls and she hears a metallic clink.

"Barry, I ca—"

"Jill, go! Chris and the others are somewhere in that mansion."

Despair washes over her. She wants so badly to protest, to stay behind and partner up with him to search for the others, but she knows there's nothing she can do. There's no way she's getting through those bars and she can't see...the _thing._

"Okay…"

She roughly shoves the object into her pocket.

"Okay, just don't…"

Don't _die._

"I've got this, Jill. Go!"

She doesn't realize that she headed back into the mansion until she's descending the staircase towards the front door. The corpse of the hellhound is still motionless on the floor, now surrounded by a pool of blood that's far too much in quantity to even consider that it's still alive. She pulls the object from her pocket again and looks down at it, running her thumb over the insignia that's engraved into it.

Jill has no idea what this is. Vaguely, the grey, red, and white stripes that surround the insignia remind her of Umbrella's logo and she almost laughs. Maybe Umbrella owns this stupid mansion and sasquatch really is running through Arklay forest. Joseph would get a kick out of concocting conspiracy theories for this.

She feels a sharp pang in her chest at the thought. Joseph was wounded outside and all she can think about is the gore that gushed from the unidentified man's mangled neck.

Jill turns her head towards the doors leading to the dining hall and shudders. She doesn't want to think about what she might have seen and she definitely doesn't want to go see it again, so she goes in the opposite direction in search of...something.

The room she enters isn't what she expected. It's dark, lit by spotlights that are directed towards a statue in the center of the room. The statue seems innocuous—a woman holding a pot—but the shadows created by the lighting make it seem intimidating. Paintings cover the walls around her, framed in intricate metal work that seems expensive.

It's an art gallery that she's not going to waste time on. Jill passes through, down a long, L-shaped corridor that's accented by an excessive amount of fine china and artwork, and ends up in another twisted hallway. She begins to feel overwhelmed by the mere layout of the mansion and the weight of the object in her pocket suddenly feels like a burden. How is Barry so sure that this is relevant to anything at all?

Jill decides she'll go about this systematically, searching room-by-room until she runs into one of the others. Her plan is promptly thwarted when the first door in the room won't open and she glances down at the lock. It's a simple one, one that she knows she could pick in seconds, but is it really necessary? If it's locked, no one is inside...right?

She stares at the door, heart palpitating in her chest because she just doesn't know what to _do._ What was wrong with that man near the dining hall? Why did Wesker leave the lobby? Did Barry escape...the _thing_? Is Joseph alright? Where are the others?

Is Chris alive?

The fact that she's even questioning it makes her uncomfortable. Jill doesn't want to consider it. Once again, she tells herself that he's capable. Chris _is_ alive, she decides, and he would tell her to open the door, so she does.

It takes her less than thirty seconds and she shoves the lockpicking set back into the pouch on her hip. The metal door is cold to the touch and she opens it cautiously. It leads outside, that she _knows,_ but she hasn't even finished stepping through it when the barking starts.

Jill promptly steps back inside the mansion, yanking the door closed behind her. Not again.

She leans against the door, taking a moment to appreciate the cold surface. Her skin is slick with sweat and her breathing is erratic. She rests a palm against her chest, feeling the powerful recoil of her heart, and she looks to the door to her right and the bend of the hallway ahead.

Powering through, she takes an uneasy step forward and pushes open the next door. Her hand rests on the grip of her handgun in anticipation and she smiles to herself with relief when she steps into the bathroom.

The ceiling fan above her rotates slowly, but the air seems strangely stale. The sink vanity is pristinely clean, but the _stench_ in the air is sickening. The tub nearby is filled to the brim with murky water and when she moves closer to it, she sees brown globules floating on its surface. It's too dark to see through, but it's obvious that the tub is the culprit of the smell.

Jill begins to leave the bathroom when she hears water swish behind her. She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls her gun from its holster, silently praying to herself that it was nothing more than an auditory hallucination. Swallowing hard, she turns, and time suddenly seems to move in slow motion.

What seems like a man has surfaced from the water, sitting upright in the tub. His skin is yellowed, browned, and wrinkled, so saturated with water that it seems to heavily sag off his frame. A pained, gurgling noise escapes him, propelling filthy water from his mouth as he turns his head in her direction.

She doesn't know what to call it, but she knows this isn't a man any longer. The creature's eyes are covered in a cloudy film that makes sight seem impossible. Its hand emerges from the tub, clenching the porcelain rim tightly, and she watches in horror as one of its fingers sloughs off onto the floor.

The monster plummets over the edge of the tub, landing on the tile with a wet sound. Its limbs are now contorted, bent in ways that bones _shouldn't,_ and its neck is bent at a ninety degree angle. The creature's cheek is pressed against the ground and it gnashes its teeth open and closed, jaw audibly popping from the motion.

She's going to vomit. That telltale pressure is suddenly present in her stomach and she fights to keep it down. Jill stumbles forward as she scrambles for the toilet, but she feels something crunch beneath her boot and she slips, catching herself on the edge of the tub as her knees hit the ground hard. She looks back over her shoulder and realizes she stomped on the creature's head. The sight of the soggy, grey chunks of tissue splattered against the tile and the way its skull is split open from bursting is too much.

Jill hunches over and vomits onto the floor. She hears it splash against the tile and the sound inspires a second strangled gag, one that brings up acid that burns the lining of her throat. Her palms are stinging from how hard they struck the tile and she groans in pain, chest rising and falling erratically with her labored breathing.

She needs to get out of this room. Jill gropes for the wall nearby, using it as leverage to rise to a stand. She does everything she can to keep from looking at the disgusting scene below and leans over the sink, opening the tap and rushedly cupping her hands together, filling them with water to rinse out her mouth. No matter how many times she flushes her mouth with the icy water, she can't seem to get the acrid taste to go away.

This can't be happening.

Pressing her palms against the countertop, she leans forward and forces herself to look in the mirror. The paleness of her skin and the darkness of the circles beneath her eyes almost make it hard to recognize her own reflection. She tentatively presses her fingertips to her face, feeling the hard contour of her cheekbone beneath her skin.

Of course this is real. She feels stupid for even considering that it might not be.

As she aimlessly wanders down the hallway, she feels hopeless. Jill passes through another set of doors and finds herself in another hallway. Tears of frustration begin to obscure her vision and she blinks them away.

"Hello?" She calls out in a shaky voice. "Is anyone...here?"

She steps further into the passageway.

"Chris? Joseph? Wesker? _Anyone_?"

Silence.

A lone tear manages to escape, trickling down the side of her face and neck. Jill brushes it away with the back of her hand and walks to the end of the hallway. Reluctantly, she opens the door, expecting to find another goddamn hallway. Instead, she's outside again and she's _grateful._ She's ready to get the hell out of Arklay and never look back.

The soles of her boots scuff against the stone walkway. She feels safe here, sheltered by the twisting ivy that has claimed the lattices that surround her that obscure her view. Jill takes off her beret, raking her fingers through her sweat-dampened hair as she slowly walks to the end of the pathway.

The metal door is locked, but there's no keyhole anywhere to be seen. She takes a step back from the door and notices the inscription behind the door— _the defiler of the accursed coffin._

The indentation beside it seems strangely familiar, octagonal in shape just like…

Jill reaches into her pocket and pulls out the object Barry gave her. Her gaze shifts from it, to the indentation, and back to the emblem. They seem similar, but it doesn't make _sense._ How would that even work?

As she reflects back on the events of the night, Jill decides that it might not be the dumbest idea after all. She pushes the object into the hole and hears a faint click, as if a lock has been undone. A premature rush of celebratory excitement courses through her as she reaches for the handle, but she hears a loud crack behind her.

Jill spins around as she hears the loud shriek, finding herself face-to-face with a horrifying creature that has leapt through the wooden lattice that once felt like a shield. Beyond its bipedal nature, it bears to likeness to that of a human. Its skin is covered in dark scales and it regards her with yellow, reptilian eyes. The monster's mouth opens, revealing a full set of razor sharp fangs that compliment its undoubtedly lethal claws.

It takes a step forward, the long claws on its feet clicking against the stone beneath them. Jill's mind is forced into a stunned silence by its presence and it rears its head back, splaying its arms wide as it lets out another shrill cry.

Though the rational part of her is unavailable, instinct isn't. The creature takes a step back, raising one of its horrible claws in preparation to strike. Jill hears its claws scrape the ground before she sees it jump into the air and she wastes no time in taking advantage of its movement. She runs back down the length of the hall, heart rapidly hammering away as the monster screams again.

It's after her. She hears it charging after her, all heavy stomps and the scratch of claws, and she vaguely thinks _oh god, I'm going to die._ Something about the appearance of those thick scales suggests that her 9mm won't offer much defense and the speed with which it vaults down the hallway in pursuit of her makes stopping to fire at it seem like an awful idea.

Jill doesn't know where she's going, but she doesn't necessarily need to. All she needs to do is _run._ She sees a door to the left, one she hasn't yet tried, and she takes the gamble. Jill rams the door open and stumbles into a room with a staircase. She doesn't think she'll be able to climb the stairs quickly enough, but she sees a room beneath them and she runs for it.

With the door closed behind her, Jill leans against it, forcing it to endure as much of her weight as she can. She can hear the monster stomping around, presumably rushing up and down the stairs, and she waits for the sound to fade away. It sounds like it's upstairs when she hears something break.

Jill exhales slowly, easing the burning tightness in her diaphragm from holding her breath. Her back slides down the door's surface as she lowers herself to the floor. She clenches her handgun tightly in her hand and waits, expecting the door to rattle on its hinges at any moment now as the monster attempts to force its way in.

It doesn't.

The room is dimly lit by a lantern that gives off a yellow glow. It's a small space, a closet of some sort that's filled with wooden crates and storage chests. Jill appreciates the normalcy of it and sighs with relief again. She sets her handgun on the ground beside her and draws her knees towards her chest, leaning forward to lean her forehead against them.

She doesn't understand what's going on. It feels like she's living in one of Joseph's insane conspiracy theories. No matter how hard she tries, she can't draw up a single reasonable explanation for what has happened to her tonight. The only thought that crosses her mind is _zombies_ and she wants to laugh at herself for even considering it.

Jill looks up, resting her chin on top of her knees. She stares into the dull light of the lantern and, for a fleeting moment, she feels _normal._ There's no tightness in her chest, no rapid pounding of her heart, no breathlessness from running away from awful creatures. She feels warm and strangely safe, a feeling that reminds her a lot of…

Her last meeting with Chris comes to mind and her eyes feel hot with the pinprick sensation of forming tears. That very well could be the last moment of _normal_ that she'll ever experience. Jill realizes she's probably going to die tonight and she's blindsided by guilt. She thinks about his offer, about spending a weekend on the lake with him and Claire, and she realizes that, for the first time since moving to Raccoon, it felt like _maybe_ the pieces of her life were finally falling back into place.

Jill pictures him standing at the entrance of her apartment, grinning at her with that boyish smile and those warm eyes, and she suddenly wishes she would have invited him in. It occurs to her that she may never see him again, that he'll never awkwardly pass her his apology coffee again and that she'll never get a chance to find out what happens if she invites him into her apartment. Even in the odd chance that she survives this nightmare, he may already be _dead._

The thought makes her break down. Jill buries her face in her knees again, shoulders visibly trembling as she tries to hold in her sobs. One of them is probably going to die tonight and she'll never see him again. She can't bear the thought of being the one that survives and sees him in a casket, lifeless and drained of color, when he had been so warm and alive only a few hours ago.

Jill will never figure out what she is to him, but she realizes exactly what he is to her. She has a stupid schoolgirl crush on Chris Redfield and she'll never find out if he feels the same about her.

* * *

Chris swears he can feel his heart skip a beat as he stands in the doorway of that filthy cabin. Joseph is lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, limbs limply folded beneath his body. He can see the shadowing of blood beginning to seep through his bandana and Chris doesn't know _what_ to do.

He doesn't think he's breathing. Chris tries to watch closely for the rise and fall of his chest, but his gaze keeps shifting back to the stain on his bandana and the handgun that seems to have fallen just out of Joseph's reach. He swallows to try to alleviate the lump that has formed in his throat, but he finds that he chokes on it instead—a sound that sounds reminiscent of a strangled sob.

He fucked up. He _knows_ he fucked up. Chris can't understand why he thought leaving Joseph alone was a viable idea in the first place. He should have known better. With the way this night has gone, _anything_ could have been lurking in the fucking woods and he should have known that. Joseph was S.T.A.R.S., but his specialization was in maintenance. Why the fuck did he think he'd be alright on his own?

"Fuck…"

Chris takes in a shaky breath as he forces himself to look away. This is his fault. Yeah, taking Joseph with would have been an inconvenience, but it was _possible._ He probably would have been safer in that shed than this disgusting cabin in the woods.

How would he explain this to the others? _Yeah, sorry, Frost is dead because I abandoned him in the woods after he got mauled by hellhounds._

He awkwardly clears his throat again and turns away. Chris kneels down, collecting his handgun from the floor, and sighs. Whatever it had been that got Frost, he at least put up a fight. The entire magazine is empty. Joseph went down fighting.

"Fuck."

His vision is suddenly blurred with the onset of tears and Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut tight to will them away. What the hell is he supposed to do now? He can't just _leave_ him here. Joseph deserves better than this.

A quiet groan disrupts the silence of the cabin. Chris immediately pivots around towards Joseph and sees his fingers curl into a fist.

"Oh, thank _fuck._ " He mutters as he drops to his knees beside him. Chris pushes him over so he's lying on his back and Joseph grunts, his face twisting into a pained grimace.

"Frost, what the _fuck_?"

Joseph presses a palm against his forehead, opening his eyes as he pulls it away. He sighs at the sight of his blood-stained palm and lowers his arm back to the ground with another grunt.

"This... _thing._ "

"The hellhounds?"

Joseph shakes his head as he sits up, once again resting a hand against his head like it hurts. It probably fucking does.

"No, this…"

He gestures towards the empty space beside him.

"It was this thing with, like...two faces? I don't know, man. Arklay is _fucked_ up. I kept shooting it in one of its ugly faces and it kept _coming_ until it clobbered me over the damn head."

Chris can't begin to imagine what he's describing.

"A thing with two faces?" He asks, trying to get clarification.

"Well, I think it had tentacles too. Or, like, worms."

Now he _really_ can't imagine what it looked like.

"Wait," Joseph's eyes widen like he's had an epiphany, "Do heartworms, like, come _out_ of dogs? What if...what if one of the dogs gave that thing heartworm and that's gonna happen to _me_?"

"It doesn't even sound like it was a person, Frost."

"No, it totally was!" Joseph insists. "I heard it _talk._ "

"Really? Did it say ' _boo'_ before it knocked you out?"

"No," Joseph says, rolling his eyes, "It sounded like it was calling out for its mother."

Is this one of his stupid conspiracy theories? Chris decides to cut him a little slack. He _did_ just get clocked in the head.

"Yeah, alright," Chris brushes it off, "Come on, I found a mansion past the woods."

"A mansion?"

Chris offers Joseph a hand to help tug him to his feet.

"Yeah, a mansion. I haven't gotten inside yet."

"Probably a murder mansion." Joseph mumbles. "Some crazy ass scientist's hideout where he makes hellhounds and two-faced-tentacle-people."

"Yeah, _probably,_ but where the hell else are we gonna go?"

He's starting to get irritated and feels a little guilty about it.

"I really don't wanna be a tentacle person and I definitely don't want them to put your face on me too." Joseph grimaces and adds, "I mean, I don't know where your face has been."

"I'll make sure it's me they put your face on then." Chris snaps, annoyed. "Come on, we need to go."

Joseph nods. He takes a step forward and slams a hand down on the edge of the desk nearby.

"Damn, I'm dizzy."

He takes a couple deep breaths, but suddenly stands upright and looks behind him.

"Wait, I have to show you something!"

"Frost, we really don't—"

Before he can argue, Joseph quickly scampers to the back of the cabin. He's out of Chris's view, but he can hear him rummaging around.

"Frost, we really need to go."

Joseph comes back with a fistful of yellowed papers.

"This is some messed up shit. It's, like, a diary or something."

"Yeah, we'll look at it later."

Chris really just wants to get the hell out of there before Joseph's tentacle creature comes back.

Their trip back to the garden shed is uneventful aside from Joseph's creative commentary. Chris stands in front of that metal door again, arms crossed over his chest, and angrily inspects it. He doesn't know how he can get this damn thing open beyond using brute force, but they _need_ to get inside.

Chris tries to muster all his strength as he unsuccessfully rams the door again, hissing in response to the painful throbbing in his shoulder. He cradles it gently with his hand, trying to rub the ache away as he glares at the door offendingly.

Joseph gives him an odd look and reaches for the handle.

"It's—"

Chris thinks he's gonna punch a fucking hole in the door as it creaks open.

"It was locked before." Chris defends himself. "I'm serious."

Joseph purses his lips, a look of disbelief on his face, but he nods anyway.

"Really. It was."

Joseph continues to nod as he walks through the door. Chris feels like a fucking idiot as he follows him into the walkway ahead. The path ahead is dark on account of the vines that have entirely engulfed the lattice around it, but the sconce on the wall behind them provides just enough light to ensure that they're alone.

The inside of the mansion is dark and they find themselves facing a single door. The room opens up to the left, but he's not able to see around the corner. Chris draws his knife and motions for Joseph to wait, tiptoeing to the corner and peeking his head around. He doesn't see anything—a few closed doors and one that seems to have been left open—and he feels relief.

"We're good." He says, lowering his guard. "I don't see anything."

A loud, blood-curdling shriek echoes from ahead and Chris curses under his breath. Something comes pummelling their way, like it's sprinting down a set of stairs, and Chris quickly runs for the door ahead of them. Yanking it open, he motions for Joseph to go through. He hears the crowing of birds as Joseph passes through the doorway and thinks, _just my fucking luck._

Before he can revise their escape route, he sees their pursuer leap through the open door. Chris doesn't know what the fuck it is—something covered in scales—but the glimpse of its claws is enough to persuade him to get the _fuck_ out. He follows after Joseph, slamming the door shut behind them.

"What is it?" Joseph asks, voice drowned out by the loud cawing of crows resting on the track lighting overhead.

"I don't know, just fucking _run_!"

They're in an art gallery of some sort, he guesses, as he runs past the massive stoned glass paintings on the wall. He doesn't understand why the fuck a murder of crows is hanging out in the room, but he doesn't have time to ponder it because the creature is pounding on the door behind them. Joseph is slower than he is and he reaches out, pressing a palm against his back to shove him forward and towards the metal gate ahead. They're heading outside again.

He hears the door behind them give way as they find themselves in a graveyard. Chris quickly spins around as he continues to usher Joseph forward, spotting a door on the wall beside them.

"Fucking _hurry_!" He hisses, nearly tripping his way up the stairs.

The door they stumble through is heavy and Chris yanks it shut as hard as he can, almost wishing the fucking thing would get jammed. He hears the fucker scream again and he quickly surveys their surroundings. They're standing in the foyer, in between two sets of stairs, and he looks to his right and—

" _Chris_?"

He looks to his left, up the set of stairs, and sees Rebecca standing behind the railing above. Richard is leaning up against her, blood pouring down the side of his arm, but he manages a weak smile.

"Oh my _god_ ," Joseph nearly screams, "It's _Rebecca_!"

Chris hurries up to meet them. Richard has clearly been through some shit, given how horrible he looks. His skin is disturbingly pale, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, and his left arm is hanging limply by his side. Rebecca's struggling to hold him upright, her arm just barely long enough to encompass the width of his waist, and she huffs under the strain of his weight.

"What the hell happened to _you_?" Joseph asks.

Richard winces, but forces another smile as he mirrors, "What the hell happened to _you_?"

"Two-faced tentacle-looki—"

"We have to get out of here," Chris reminds him, "There's something after us."

Rebecca's eyes widen and she looks at Richard.

"We don't have a lot of time," she softly says, looking towards a door on the opposite side of the walkway, "He's poisoned and there's a medical supply room over there."

He hears the fucker loudly pounding at the door.

"Fuck."

Richard has a weak grip on a shotgun and Chris doesn't know what else to do.

"You have shots in that thing?"

Richard nods.

"Give it to me," Chris orders, "Frost will help you. I'll take care of...that."

Joseph opens his mouth to protest, but Chris cuts him off.

"We don't have much else of a choice, Frost. You need medical attention too. I'm _fine._ "

Joseph slings Richard's arm over his shoulder, alleviating Rebecca of the burden of his weight. Chris isn't sure how much longer the door can hold, so he returns to it, gripping the handle hard to try to keep it steady in its frame.

"You have a gun?" He asks her and she nods.

"Magazines?"

"Yeah."

"Chris needs one."

Rebecca meets him on the stairs and slides the magazine into the pocket on his vest as Joseph and Richard hobble behind her.

"You better not die." She angrily spats in a way that reminds him of his bossy sister. "Come meet us after. Just go through those doors."

She points in the direction of the double doors that Joseph is trying to drag Richard towards.

"There's a door on the right. Go down the stairs and it's the first room there."

"Yeah, alright."

Chris feels like his heart is gonna leap right out of his chest. He doesn't know what to expect from whatever's on the other side, but he knows _someone_ has to take care of it, so he roughly shoves the door open, causing the creature to screech once more as it stumbles backwards. He runs out into the graveyard, pumping the shotgun as he moves, and quickly turns around to face it.

Maybe it's the lack of lighting out here, but Chris thinks the thing is fucking terifying. He can't make out the fine details, but he sees it leap onto the landing in front of him, scales reflecting back the light that shines from behind it. It's standing on two legs and he thinks the fucker might even be bigger than Rebecca. It watches him with reptilian eyes that seem to glow in the darkness and it raises a claw in preparation to strike.

Chris hears its claws scrape the cement as it leaps into the air and he fucking _runs,_ tripping over an errant gravestone that's hidden in the overgrown grass. He turns around and fucking _blasts_ the bitch, causing it to stumble backwards and fall onto the dirt.

Dropping the empty shotgun onto the ground, he quickly slides the magazine into his handgun and approaches it as it writhes on the floor. Standing over it, he fires—one, two, three times—right at its fucking face. It doesn't make a sound. Its limbs fall limp against the ground and Chris hopes the thing is dead as fuck. Deader than dead as fuck.

He steps back, gun still poised in the direction of the damn thing. Slowly, he squats down to grab the shotgun, eyes glued on its corpse. It doesn't seem to move and that's good enough for him. Chris passes back through the door leading to the lobby and closes it gently behind him to keep from making a sound.

What the _fuck_ is going on?

Chris leans back against the door and takes in a series of ragged breaths. His hands are trembling as he holsters his gun and he tightens his grip on the shotgun. He stares out into the lobby, taking in the wood paneling and gaudy decor. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices something lying on the floor beside the entryway.

On closer inspection, it's a corpse of a fucking hellhound. He doesn't really want to touch it, but he reaches down and does. It's been dead for a while, cold and stiff to the touch with congealed blood pooled beneath it, and he wonders, _did Rebecca do this?_

It doesn't seem likely. Someone _else_ is there.

He instantly thinks of Jill and feels his chest tighten. She's probably alright, isn't she?

Chris clenches his eyes shut and tries to recall what happened before, when they were first attacked by the pack of hellhounds. He remembers seeing her, a blur of blue in his periphery and headed in Wesker's direction.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust. As much as he hates to admit it, Wesker is talented. She's probably with him and that means she's _safe._ There's no way she's dead, no matter how many fucked up creatures are hanging out in Arklay. She's capable and she's with fucking _Wesker._ He's not even going to consider the possibility of her being dead. If she's not with Wesker, she's with Kevin or Barry. That's fine. He knows they'd keep her safe. Vickers is most certainly dead and he can't summon a single fuck about it.

He needs to get moving.

Chris takes the set of doors Rebecca pointed out earlier. The room is dark as hell and he heads to the railing that circles the perimeter room, peering over it into the floor below. It looks like a dining hall, encompassing a huge table that spans the length of the room in front of a roaring fireplace. He hears a clock ticking, a sound so loud that he thinks it might fucking deafen him, and he steps back.

He can't see shit. Chris fondles the wall to his right in search of the door Rebecca mentioned. He eventually finds it when he smacks his hand against the door handle and he yanks it open, making sure to close it behind him just in case something _else_ wants to come up and surprise him.

The corridor is disturbing. A foul odor wafts through the halls, one that reminds him of roadkill in the summer, and he feels a little nauseated by it. The drywall nearby is cracked and crumbling and the room is cast with the yellow glow of a lightbulb that makes it seem sinister.

He feels uneasy. There's a door ahead of him and a passage to his right. He's a little annoyed because Rebecca sure as fuck didn't mention the hallway. Where the hell is he supposed to go? Is there a staircase around the corner?

Chris takes a step forward and immediately freezes. There's something down the hall, something that lets out a hoarse groan that makes his blood run cold. He doesn't dare move and listens to it approach with dragging steps. There's no way they came this way...or did _this_ kill them?

Maybe he took the wrong door. Maybe there's _another_ door that he missed. This definitely can't be the way and he's absolutely not interested in meeting what's waiting for him.

Chris considers turning around to head back, but it's too late. Whatever it is, it's sprinting down the hall, and he can hear it hiss loudly. It's fast, coming around the corner with its arms outstretched, and it tackles him to the fucking ground.

He struggles to keep it off of him. It's human—or _used_ to be—and he's pressing a hand against its forehead to maintain distance between them as he grips its wrist in his opposite hand. Its flesh is red and blistered like it has been burned, and it practically growls at him, sending a shower of spittle across his face. Chris grimaces in disgust and attempts to shove it off of him again with no success. It hisses again and gnashes its rotten teeth at him, its breath so hot that he swears he sees smoke curl in the air between them.

Chris lets go of its wrist to quickly tear the knife from its holster on his chest and he forces the blade through its throat. He doesn't meet much resistance, just soft, pliant tissue, and he thinks something isn't right about that. It's not bleeding and, more importantly, it's not fucking _dead._ The thing doesn't even flinch even with a huge blade impaled through its throat.

It's going to fucking kill him. Chris clenches his teeth as he pushes it again with as much force as he can manage. It's unaffected, wildly chomping away in its attempt to get to him, and he thinks this is quite possibly the worst fucking way to die. He'd rather have been shredded to ribbons by that fucking other thing's claws.

Chris looks away from it and sees the shotgun lying beside him. It's close, close enough that he might be able to reach it, but he has to move _fast._ He takes in a deep breath and releases the monster's wrist again to grab the gun. Chris has his hand on the butt of it and swings it towards the creature, ramming it into the side of its head so hard that it stuns it. He bucks his hips, throwing it off of him, and begins to beat the _fuck_ out of it. Its head caves in on the first hard thrust of the gun and it bursts open around the third. Chris gives it one last smack for good measure and feels sick when he sees the viscera clinging to the end of the shotgun.

As he's wiping it off on the carpet, he hears gunfire. It's close, _really_ close, and it doesn't stop. It could be _anyone_ but it doesn't fucking matter because all he wants is to see another living human's face. Without giving it a second thought, he sprints in the direction that he thinks it's coming from, and he hopes to god that it's someone familiar.

* * *

There's no doubt left in her mind—she's _absolutely_ going to die. If anyone had warned her about what would happen tonight, she would have thought they were crazy, but she definitely wouldn't expect to hear that she'd be fighting a giant _snake._

Idly, she wonders if this is a fever dream. There's no way this is happening. There's no way she's trapped in a library with a giant snake that's about to _kill_ her. How the hell did she end up here? Why did she even come through here?

She can hear it slithering behind the massive bookcase in front of her, the end of its tail peeking out from behind the obstacle. It's so heavy that it sounds like it's being dragged across the floor and she steps back, creating as much distance between them as she can. It's going to come out from the opposite side and she's already put about twenty rounds into it, but it isn't stopping. Jill aims in its direction and waits because what _else_ is she supposed to do?

It hisses as it slowly maneuvers past the shelf. She shoots at it again, managing to pop a few shots into it before it gets too close for comfort. Jill hurries around the bookshelf again, forcing it to follow her in the same loop, and she wonders if she should save the last bullet in her magazine for herself.

There are four shots left and she needs to make one of them count. She's trembling as she aims for it again, waiting for it to peek its head around the shelf. She decides that, if the third shot doesn't kill it, she might as well shoot herself with the last. She'd rather go out on her own terms than be swallowed by this monstrosity.

Jill fires once and it sounds like it wheezes. She wonders if it's close, if it's about to drop at any moment now.

She moves to another corner of the library and shoots again. It doesn't seem bothered by this one.

 _This is it,_ she thinks, _if this one doesn't…_

This shot isn't hers.

The snake lets out a pained noise as tissue flies out of the side of its head. Its narrowed eye is nothing but an empty, bleeding socket when it lands on the tile, flailing its tail hard against the shelf. Jill is stunned as she watches the bookshelf topple over, spilling books onto the floor before it lands on the snake.

She hears someone climbing down the ladder behind her and her heart skips a beat. Something tells her that she _knows_ exactly who it is, but she can't seem to force herself to turn around. A warm hand comes to rest on her shoulder and she spins around so fast that she's dizzy, but the blur of olive green in front of her is more than enough proof that she's right.

Jill crashes into Chris so hard that he grunts, staggering a step backwards. Her arms are wrapped as tightly as she can manage around him and she has her head pressed against his chest, eyes held closed as she listens to the beating of his very much _alive_ heart.

He returns her hug, pressing a palm against her back to pull her as close to him as he possibly can. She feels his hand at the back of her head, stroking her hair before gently cupping the back of her head in his palm to hold her against his chest.

Her voice is muffled by his chest and it cracks as she says, "I thought you were dead."

She feels him laugh beneath her cheek, chest rumbling.

"I knew you weren't."

Her heart feels like it's swelling to the point that it might burst right out of her chest. The heat radiating from him is nearly suffocating and she reluctantly pulls away, looking up at him as he cracks a smile.

"This place is…"

She doesn't even know how to describe it.

"Fucked up? Yeah, I know."

Jill isn't sure if she's about to laugh or cry. She tries to hold it in as she stares at his face and she thinks she does both—cries _and_ laughs—because, for the first time that night, something is going right.

She wants to ask about the others, but she doesn't get a chance. Jill cries out as a sharp pain envelops her, one that shoots up her leg and seems to travel through her entire body. She stumbles forward, colliding against Chris, and she looks down at her leg. The corners of her vision are beginning to turn black, but she sees it, sees the fucking snake with its fangs impaled in her calf and she can't tell if she screams.

Chris shoots it. She can hear him fire at it and she tries to count the shots, but her head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and she can't concentrate. She feels like her legs have been swept out from under her, but she thinks Chris has his arm around her waist because it doesn't seem like she's hitting the ground.

Jill can't see anything, but she can feel his palm against the side of her face. He's saying something, but she can't really hear it. Her ears are ringing and she feels a sharp pain in the side of her head when he turns her in another direction.

She knew this fucking snake was going to kill her.

Her chest is burning and she coughs, feeling something wet surface in the back of her throat.

"—going to be alright—"

She's never heard him speak so softly. Maybe it's the ringing that's drowning out the sound of his voice.

"—got you—"

She feels so dizzy, but she can't _see_ anything. Jill feels like she's weightless and she thinks he might have lifted her. She turns her head to the side and she feels him, warm and solid beneath her cheek, and she can hear the beat of his heart despite that high-pitched ringing.

In her last moment of consciousness, she thinks that maybe there are worse ways to die than in Chris Redfield's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad for coming back after such a long absence with a chapter like this. I hope the 14k word count makes up for it. @cyancaddy and I spent a lot of time fleshing out the Arklay timeline to try to make it seem as realistic as possible while being just similar enough to the canon to make it seem vaguely familiar without being boring. We definitely took some liberties with the canon and we know. It felt like it'd be awfully boring to retell the game to all of us who have played it a thousand times.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. I'm going to go cry now because we're such bullies to these wonderful characters. Trust me, it hurts us too.


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